Buttering Up Mom

I didn't raise dummies. By the ripe age of six, both of my children had grasped that life is all about give-and-take. Indeed, they have become masters of "Buttering up Mom."

This is a welcome respite from the last phase: the one I call, "Is she looking?"

This makes home life a lot like a hockey game. Namely: Everything is legal if the ref isn't looking, and in the unlikely event you're caught bodily assaulting a playgroup member with a deadly but very colorful stick, you serve a whopping two-minute penalty.

By sheer coincidence, there is also a lot of bruising in this phase, and the occasional loss of teeth. It makes me really wonder whether hockey wasn't invented by a first-grader.

This "Is she looking?" phase truly drove me, with my peaceful and orderly sensibilities, insane. But in all honesty, it worked pretty well for them. Which makes it all the more surprising they self-imposed this transition to their new cholesterol-enriched partly-hydrogenated philosophy. I'm so proud!

Yes, these days, things are much improved (although teeth still disappear from time to time.) It may be that aliens have abducted my children and replaced them with clever replicas, or it may be that the "crooked maternal accusatory finger of death" eventually had its desired effect. Now they will stand quietly, like the crafty angels they are, and try to weasel favors after the fact. "We were REALLY GOOD in the music store, Mom. Can we have gum?"

This demonstrates a  tangible transition toward real-world thinking and hints at maturity that, with luck, leads to college, career, wealth, and eventually first-rate elder-care for Moi, in one of those places with dark paneling and armoires all over the place.

"Sure"

Two pieces?

Of course, I can see right through the strategy of, say, "serving Mom a bowl of ice cream" in order to garner a second (bigger) bowl for themselves. But, as it turns out, I particularly like being served ice cream. And anyway, such cleverness in the ways of the world deserves to be rewarded.

Right now they at least understand that butter is a powerful (though not magic) coercive tool. Indeed, it's a very slippery, malleable substance, requiring finesse to manage. And they are motivated to acquire that skill.

My children have learned that they can turn the kitchen upside down in a bizarre series of science experiments - if in the end, they just remember to toss some cheese and crackers on a plate for Mom. "We were making you a snack!"

Sixteen rolls of scotch tape and a ream of colored paper yield: an afternoon of fun, ten pounds of (ignored) scraps, and a small cut-out "I love Mom" heart, that looks suspiciously like an afterthought.

In a predictable extension of this buttery thinking, they are now  experimenting with "optimizing their return on investment."

"You're the prettiest Mom EVER. Can I have 5 dollars?"
No.
"Four?"
Well, you'll have to be more specific. How pretty, exactly, AM I?

They haven't yet correlated the "give" with the "take", but I'm confident it'll develop with time through an entertaining process of trial and error.

"Mom, I brought you these flowers! Can you take twelve of my friends to the movies?"
Eleven?
Ten?
Two?

For the duration of this most joyous of childhood phases, I am the world's biggest tub of movie popcorn. As such, I call for a LOT of butter. Including, but not limited to, corsages, public hugs, and hand-made cards with birds and rainbows.

"Mom, I washed your car. Can I have it?"
I dread the day they revert to "Is she looking?"