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LET'S MAKE A DEAL!
I am not a gambler. I don't play cards, poker is the same as a foreign language to me, and inserting coins and pulling slots just seems like the silly temptation my fate doesn't need in order to loose a few bucks. I can loose money just fine all on my own, without the aid of coin slots and spades and jacks. There are so many rules to remember and though I realize this is a mighty good time for a large number of folks, it's simply not my thing. I will admit, I'm simply not a good "better..." and when it comes to making a bet, really who wants to make one if you think you might not win? If, however, given the choice, I would sooner take my chances and run the risk in the Vegas casinos before ever placing a bet with my children. There are a few reasons behind this...one, my daughter IS good at this sort of thing - far too good, and she will always win. Two, of course it reinforces bad habits, and makes bribery for good behavior the norm instead of the exception - not a lesson I want my kids to follow, I have a hard enough time. Three, betting with children will likely always come back to bite you in the rear end.
Recently, my sons teacher placed a bet with the entire class. It was brilliant in thought, and carefully planned out action. Provided the entire class as a whole each earned a certain number of points - they could go without homework for the evening. How did they earn points? Test grades...obviously the better the grade, the higher the points given out. Now THIS is the way to place a bet - those children worked so hard together as a team, they are without homework for the next TWO nights!
That would be an example of a bet - gone good. (All improper English aside)
And it would never work that way for me. Had I been teaching, I would have discovered the future attorneys in that classroom, all searching for some loophole that out of sheer guilt I would cave into.
And the perfect example of why NOT to make deals and bargains with your kids....one day they will come home with a Mohawk. Yes indeed parents, one day you will make what you think is a deal that's as unlikely as it is they will eat all of their vegetables without being told - the next - they will come walking in the front door with a head full of middle spikes.
Often times, my job will require me to take part in special events or activities that don't always run your typical 9-5 office hours. One such evening I was to be home a bit late, and my son, who was long overdue for a haircut, was supposed to be taken for just that purpose. Nice plan eh? I work, come home, the haircutting errands are finished. It took some time for me to relent to his favorite standard military style buzz cut. This is because a wee tot, I was hard pressed to ever cut my son's hair - a boy true enough, but sporting precious golden wispy locks that it was near heart breaking to watch snipped away. Eventually, I gave in to the far more "big boy" look and allowed the clippers to trim him up nice and short. It was a sporty, well-kept look and that helped somewhat.
A good theory anyway...unless of course you have a boyfriend who loves playing jokes and finds nothing funnier than having the kids on his side of the antics.
I walked in the front door, not oblivious to mischievous smirks that I was certain had quite a bit to do with someone up to no good. I just wasn't able to pin point what that something or someone was. At least not until I walked into the house. I passed through the garage slowly, my eyebrow raised in a question not yet asked (sometimes it's best if you give 'em a lil rope you know...and often they'll out themselves!) as I reached for the door I could hear the "Sssshhhhssss" and a lot of "Don't say anything..."
Greeeeeaaaat. I knew something fishy was going on. So I would have to discover the hoodlumry for myself. A quick glance at the kitchen, and all appeared right with the world - or at least with the appliances. Into the living room - GASP!!!!! THAT WAS IT!!!!!!!! GOOD CRAP what WAS that thing on top of my boy's head? At this point, I do not deny that I screamed out loud. This caused a domino effect of all out laughter from the friends and family anticipating my reaction at the discovery that my son...my sweet angel faced baby boy...was sporting a Mohawk. I screamed, my car keys tumbled to the floor, my purse and it's contents scattered across the tile.
Jada sat arm in arm with his sister, one elbow bent supporting this new punk rock head, gave a little nod and flipped me the peace sign. THE PEACE SIGN for almighty sakes! The surrounding pranksters were in near hysterics - I myself... I wasn't laughing at all. Oh no, brother, this was no laughing matter, and where on earth were his golden soft locks, and woooaaa buddy - perhaps they had it all wrong. Perhaps, they thought; "If we just do it, how can she say no?" Except, that I had all the plan in the wide world to say NO, and a whole lot more - because no child of mine was going to walk around with a Mohawk, throwing peace signs around....noooo buddy. "What Up mom...?" WHAT UP? WHAT UP? Well if that's the straw that broke the camels back I don't know what was....my eyes were wide as saucers.
"JADA?! What HAPPENED to you?!" I ran over to the couch, where my daughter was doubled over in giggles. "I got a Mohawk mom! Just like I wanted!" And indeed he did. All buzzed on the sides and the middle long like a hood rat. Oh no no, although he had joked with me about a cut like this, it would simply never do.
"KEEEEE-VIIIINNNN" I bellowed from the living room. I could hear his laughter coming all the way from the garage, as clear as if he were in the room with me. "What is it? You don't like your boys cut?"
My expression spoke a thousand silent words. All of them held daggers, while Jada leapt from the couch in protest..."Please, please let me keep it mom, it's COOL and all the kids have 'em...."
Oooooh-ho don't get me started about "all the kids" I can appreciate the desire for him to sport his own style - it's just that moms have to draw a line somewhere in the fashion line. A Mohawk - most assuredly beyond my line. "No WAY, Jada....and someone find the clippers and buzz the rest of that head - no way no how are you going to walk yourself into school like..."
Of course this was met with the quick reply; "But moo-ooom...."
"No way! I don't even want to take you to the grocery store like that!"
After much bantering back and fourth, the clippers finally emerged to laughter everywhere, and his head was made even, after one agreement.
And this is how it so happens that a mother learns not to make deals with her children. My deal? On the condition that we removed that horrendous Mohawk, he would be permitted to allow his hair to grow in, and wear the grotesque Mohawk, during the summer, once school was over.
He has reminded me of this fact, nearly each day since, and some days it happens the reminders are more frequent than once dailys - so much more so as we inch ever closer to the final ring of the school bell. "Mom, it's nearly time...I'm growing my hair out and getting ready for that Mohawk..."
Somewhere in the back of my head, I just assumed that summer would never come. And if it did, by that time - certainly he would have forget about the Mohawk deal. No such luck. And because I made the bargain, I am going to be forced to stay true to my word.
This summer, my son is going to be visiting with my mother in her new house in Georgia for a few weeks. This is a beautiful home in the north Georgia mountains, in a picture perfect town, complete with woodsy scenery and small town atmosphere. I for one am partially relieved that I will have a few weeks of Mohawk reprieve, but have to wonder what on earth these people are going to think of their new neighbors and the small blonde hoodlum wearing a big-city Mohawk. Oh the summer impressions we make. And the lessons we parents learn - why never EVER to make a deal with your child...because eventually the summer will come, your children will not forget - and now you see why I don't play cards...because when your son is wearing long hair only in the middle of his head...no one wins.
Love to you and Yours,
XXOO A.
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