Skip to main content
What am I supposed to do? This situation comes up infrequently but often enough to make me feel like a failure. One child does something. Okay, it is not a good thing. Let’s say it’s five dollars missing. Stolen, we presume. Worse, it’s taken from a sibling. So we have this situation. One angry-eyed teenager, convinced that Nothing Will Be Done about his missing money, and three innocent-looking siblings, all managing to look very very sympathetic about their sibling’s plight.

Unless someone confesses, it is unlikely that I will track down the guilty party. I don’t have surveillance footage or exploding ink pellets (or whatever the current technology is). I refuse to play that old elementary school teacher game: “okay, we’ll just all be grounded until the guilty person admits what they did.” I will not punish the innocent. And yet I still have the angry-eyed boy, waiting for his justice. Waiting for his five dollars, actually.

This time, I can solve at least one problem. I take him aside, “reimburse” him for his loss.

“What, you’re not going to do anything about him?” This is the worst part of the problem. He assumes that one particular sibling is the guilty party. On the face of it, it really isn’t an illogical thought. That child has had some struggles with impulse control over the years. Luckily I have answers (and I still have my fingers on the five-dollar bill, which forces angry-eyed boy to listen.) We don’t judge someone, in this family, on their past. We don’t judge them on their tendencies. Today is a new day. We trust. We go on.

Angry-eyed boy settles down. Turns out he had a long day at school. He’s more tired than angry.

I’m pretty tired myself.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

This has been a very long week -- perhaps 16 or 17 days, at least. I have been offered -- and accepted -- my younger sister’s finished basement for the next year and a half. This will be a major cost-saver for me and a big help for her (she has two toddlers and is expecting a baby in August.) So that was a humongous start to the week. My other sister and her teenaged son have had to make some really hard decisions. She gave me permission to quote her: “spent yesterday at the hospital with my son. about eleven hours. sitting here writing and rewriting this entry trying to find just the right words. how to explain-- he is not healthy. he is mentally ill. he is not safe at home. none of this really covers it. so here's one image from the day. we walk into the east wing at maine med escorted by security. the very nice guard LOOKS like a skinhead but actually has incredible kindness and compassion for my snarly boy. he tells us gently that he has to check ian for weapons and sharp o...
From the warnings in the back of the Life textbook: If one sleeps over at one’s old house to take care of one’s own kids while their dad is on a business trip, and if one is pleased with how calmly and smoothly everything is going and has gone and seems to be likely to go in the future, one should not be surprised when one’s silly dog decides to have -- oh, what should we call it? diarrhea? -- in the master bedroom on the white carpet. One should be careful not to say anything too terribly vile to the dog while scrubbing away at germy spattery spots with old white gym towels. Note: one should be especially alert to the smirking meanness of the universe. The universe has been known to send along vicious wasps to sting one on the ring finger of the left hand, causing one to nearly faint from anxiety.
Life is a little tough these days. Taking a break. I will be back with more tales of grasshoppers and compost heaps and scrabble games soon.