I don't want to be one of those moms who micromanages her kids. Like, at all. But I have to be realistic about a few things. There are some things that I might have to negotiate Finley away from. Things that implicate his health, things that scare me, and things I just can't handle.
Yes. I said negotiate. I know that the loud parenting 'experts' tell you not to do this. But they're wrong. The better experts will tell you that negotiating with your kid will make him a better problem solver and a better self-advocate. Call me crazy but, SOUNDS GOOD.
Nonetheless. Here's hoping Fin never wants these things:
1. Uncrustables.
I didn't really think these existed anymore. But they do. It boggles my mind. But they do. I saw them in Target the other day. I mean, when I typed 'Uncrustables' on my phone, it autocorrected to 'on crud tables'. Exactly.
My husband makes bomb PB + J's. The other day, as I dripped farm fresh blueberry preserves on my baby's leg while destroying such a masterpiece, the thought occurred to me that some children are apparently fed Uncrustables. What the eff.
And don't even tell me your kid likes them. Your kid just doesn't know any better. Like, once, one of my dogs didn't know any better and she literally ate my sh*t out of the toilet as it was flushing. Disgusting, right? Exactly.
I just have to hope that the only humans keeping Uncrustables on the market are drunk, stoned college kids who won't even remember eating them.
On the off chance that Johnny's mom one day feeds my kid one laced with some addictive substance, and he actually does ask me for one, I am prepared to draw this line. I don't care what the FDA says. This sh*t just isn't right.
2. A miniature horse.
And this has nothing to do with fear of spoiling my son. If the million dollar idea we haven't thought of yet pans out, Fin can have a horse if he wants. BUT ONLY A REAL HORSE.
This? This is about how much these theoretically cute creatures really creep me out. I don't know why, exactly, but I'm hoping folks can relate. There's one at a farm we go to for weekly groceries, and whenever it's around, I won't even go say hi to the goats I love. My husband noticed the other week, and when I told him, he actually agreed that they creep him out, too. And, usually, when something creeps me out (e.g. those miniature corncobs in veggie fried rice), he insists I'm being irrational.
In high school, my best friend and I worked in the HR department at a big corporation that was headquartered in our hometown. We were really fast at everything they gave us to do, but I think they knew that neither of us would work there if the other one didn't, so they kept us both on payroll and simply told us: Don't let anyone in another department hear you say 'I have nothing left to do'. Well, one day we got tired of playing volleyball with a Hershey Kiss in the mail room and went to the "filed resumes" drawer. You know, the functional equivalent of a never-emptied trash can. (So, when you don't get the job, but the company is kind enough to "keep your resume on file", there's nothing kind about it. It's particularly unkind when they give immature high schoolers access to it.) This one guy, Roger (for sure his real name; I will never forget it) must have gone to a seminar or bought some guy's product that insisted that your cover letter "stand out!" Well, Roger not only wrote about how he raises miniature horses as a hobby, but also included a picture of himself and his most prized little creeper, Tiffany (no, I will never forget her name either). We cried laughing at this poor fool. For years.
I just can't bear to watch Finley grow up to be a Roger.
3. Rodents. Maybe cats.
Because I kind of hate them. But this isn't entirely about hate.
When I was little, I actually liked pet rodents. I guess I had a little bit of a Lenny syndrome going on, because I always wanted to hold animals. I just loved them so much.
The feeling was rarely mutual. My grandmother's cats would FLEE when I walked in the door every Sunday. Sure as sh*t, I'd chase them. Often, I cornered Si-Ling under the dining room table, but he got more ninja-like every week. (Yes, he was Siamese.) Atticus Finch was smarter (of course), and escaped to the basement, which I was afraid of. Then there was Baby, the fat diabetic one, who I vaguely remember thinking might bite me, which might just have been what I told myself rather than admitting that I really didn't even want to pick him up.
So, I really wanted something that I didn't have to chase around the house to pick up. I guess I didn't think about the fact that rodents who didn't want to be held would just bite me.
But, in any event, caged animals were not an option in our house. My mom said that seeing animals in cages made her sad. My mom was usually willing to let us attempt to persuade her; sometimes we were successful, sometimes we weren't. And this is how I know that negotiating with kids doesn't make them jack holes, and how I'm pretty sure it makes them smarter. At no more than five years old, I made the point that they have plenty of space in their cages, because their bodies are smaller, so the ratio works out. Probably didn't use the word ratio, but it was still pretty smart. But, no. It still made her sad to see them in cages. So nothing else I could say would change the fact that a gerbil would make my mom sad. And I never even thought about asking to go to the zoo. YUP. This sh*t works, folks.
Anyway, one day my mom started talking about getting a dog. At the time, my sister and I wanted a cat. (That makes me laugh. Scoff, actually.) There must have been some story in the news about a child being abducted from home in the middle of the night in a quiet town somewhere or something, because my mom insisted we needed canine protection in what was a pretty safe town, a solid 20+ minutes from any area that could be described as urban.
So, we picked out Panda, a border collie mutt, from the local shelter, who happened to be the world's least cuddly dog. She was a great dog but homegirl just would not snuggle. She wouldn't even come onto the furniture, no matter how much lunch meat and cheese I dangled in front of her nose. Drove me crazy, but from the moment I saw her, I never wanted a cat again.
Hopefully big dog love will be all Fin needs, because now I feel bad for caged animals too, and I'm still mad at cats.
