Sweet deceit

Last night, I was happy knowing I had a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream waiting for me. Chocolate mint crunch, to be specific.

I don't crave sweets often these days, but there was something about the warm weather the past few days that made me drool over this creamy, cool treat.

So it was really disappointing to open the freezer and find nearly the entire pint empty. I had stolen one tiny spoonful earlier, just one. It was bitter dissaponent at its worst. My drooling tastebuds started to cry, my brain struggled to comprehend to cruel state it found itself in. (First world problems, hu?)

Hell really hath no fury like an Amy deprived of her ice cream. Especially when the ice cream thief, a 13-year-old with a stong propensity for deceit, completely denies eating Amy's ice cream despite having a suspicious, solo spoon in her room. There were other telltale signs. 

So I took lots of deep breaths while silently repeating a mommy mantra: "It is just ice cream, and kids do lie" I recited. Lie when caught red handed, when 13 my rational mind wondered.

I suppose that doubt lingered because when Mike suggested we teach Rose how it feels to be lied to, I got kinda giddy. He wanted to teach not through a lecture but through a Heathcliff Huxstable  moment. I went from giddy to ecstatic.

Rose has Lindt truffles she gets every day she organizes her school work and gets signatures. Mike suggested we hide all but a few of them, then put the bag back for her to discover. Yes! And let's leave a few wrappers on the counter so when she gets up today she will see them and we can claim ignorance.

I know, so goofy. Kinda petty. Is this just about ice cream? No, it's about teaching a lesson. Right? Today she noticed the wrappers but only asked mike about it, not me. 

Tomorrow she'll get her reward and hopefully notice! I'm dying to see what happens. This could be creative parenting or it could be insanity, or both. 

Here is mike setting the stage for this endeavor. He didn't want his parental neurosis caught on film, but too bad. 

If she was my birth kid...

Today I'm having a day wondering if I'd be acting differently if a birth child told me she stole make-up.

I was calm, but I'm upset, desperately upset. We marched her back to Walgreens, had the manager give her a stern talking to. I was calm, but as we ate dinner a few hours later, I got a little emotional when she said she hadn't really learned anything from the experience. In fact, I left the table because I could say nothing constructive at that point.

All I could feel was anger that my daughter is a thief...and this isn't the first time she's stolen, just the first time from a store. I could hardly look at her. I tried to smile and reassure her that I'm affectionate for her. I needed a break. I feel the bonding/attachment eroding a little. I need to pound it back into place.

So we have a few follow-up consequences:
1) Rose is grounded until she has written a letter of apology to Mike and I for our wasted time today and for
2) She will not be permitted in any stores with anyone for some time
3) Her current make-up, the make-up she just earned the privilege to have is taken away. It will be gone completely until the stolen make-up reappears. (She swears she doesn't know where the hot cosmetics went, but I strongly suspect it's in her room.)

But back to my reaction, it's hard at times like these to not be very angry and in those instances. I become cold, and hard. Today I prided myself for walking away from the table rather than becoming this guilt tripping mom machine who feels icy.

The New, New Reality

Today, a few friends posted pictures of suspects of the Boston Marathon bombing on Facebook to help the FBI catch the a-holes who bombed the event.

I wish I did know who they were. I wish I could report them. Yet, today, what scares me isn't how social media can be employed to capture terrorists. I'm scared that a random bombing occurred at all.  When 9-11 happened, I hesitated for months to go back to the Mall of America. I actually rarely go there even now. Subconsciously I'd rather not.

Monday's events were not nearly as dramatic as the 9-11 events, but they were more terrifying. To me, they signified a new kind of terror. Terror focused on small gains to send a message. Easily repeatable terror. Terror captured in the beads of sweat making trails down my back as I board a subway in New York.

Let's face it, if this bombing could happen at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, which was fairly heavily guarded, it could happen any where. The next bus stop in New Mexico or Alabama. It's coming.

These terrorists weren't looking for massive casualties. They wanted to send a message more profound. They can shake us at our most basic core. They can make the most sacred, basic, boring events scary.
I look at Rose and shudder that she hesitate to walk down a busy street for fear some random terrorist has put an explosive back-pack somewhere near by. Or maybe that's just my fear, not hers. Cause I look at my fellow Americans who haven't let this phase them and think I might be over reacting.

What do you think?? Do we let Monday's events change our course of action or do we pretend it's just two random guys hoping to make a statement?

Rose's adaptiveness

One of my favorite things Rose has been doing lately is in the morning. 

You see, I'm not a complete morning person. I can fake my way through it, but I like having some downtime. A child makes downtime in the morning almost impossible. Some days I know I'm a little surly as a result.

Occasionally, Rose used to ask why I was grumpy in a condescending tone. I didn't appreciate her tone at 7 a.m. on  Sunday, which resulted in an even grumpier mom, so she devised a new tactic.

"Mom?," she'll inquire politely and tentatively, "Did you sleep well?"

That's my cue. I smile and try to adjust my attitude because I'm obviously being a little grumpy.

Mom/Daughter Superbowl party

Mike took a well-deserved break to watch the Superbowl with a friend. Smart move on his part since Rose and I had three non football goals: eat, watch the commercials, catch half time. (I like to defy gender stereotypes, but in this case I'm happy to fulfill them.)

The eating was good. I let Rose choose her appetizers, which are pictured below minus the wine, which was of course mine.

She loved it.