Hidden Treasures

Several years ago, I made a conscious decision to become a parent. I dreamed of having a beautiful little person that I could love and adore. Someone who needed me that I could nurture and care for and one day, send off into the world to be a contributing member of society. What I got was a beautiful, sensitive, intelligent, loving, con artist.

We had a satellite installed at our home several months ago. The package came with 3 receivers – one in our bedroom, one in the den and one in the garage (that’s a whole other story). The point is we didn’t feel that a 7 year old needed a satellite connection in her room so she only has, GASP, local TV stations. This is a bone of contention with her as she is somehow of the assumption that her body requires at least 5 hours of Cartoon Network a day. When she is good and has earned the privilege, I allow her to pile up in my bed and watch her cartoons on the weekends. The rule is, she can lie in my bed, build her nest with the 37 pillows I require for sleep and watch her shows but under no circumstances is she to go through my stuff. This means, stay out of my bathroom, my closet, my nightstand and my dresser drawers. She has a tendency to “misplace” things like my hairbrush, tweezers, the plunger and birth control pills so it’s just better if she be restricted to the bed. She is very aware of these rules and knows that her violation of said rules will prohibit her being able to hang out in my room and melt her brain with television.

Yesterday afternoon she had been very good and asked if she could watch TV in my room. I was doing laundry and watching something on E! which she was completely bored with so I agreed. After about an hour, I went to check on her and put some clothes away. She was standing on the far side of my bed kind of crouched down. I said, “What are you doing”? She replied, without ever taking her eyes off of the screen, “watching TV”. I told her to stand up and she did but kept her hands conspicuously hidden behind the bed. I asked, “What is in your hand”? She held out her hand that was full of little wadded up candy wrappers. I recognized these as a few Hershey Miniatures I’d put in my nightstand drawer. I asked her where she got the candy to which she replied, in her most innocent voice, “I found them”. She found them………ahhhh. Obviously my child wanted me to believe that she had been on some sort of archeological dig in my bedroom and unearthed the secret tomb of Willie Wonka. I told her to go to her room. On her way there, she remembered where she had found them, “they were in your nightstand drawer”, she says, as if sharing the location of the hidden treasure with me would get her out of hot water. I explained that in order to FIND something it has to be LOST and I suggested she FIND her way into her room before I FOUND my hand on her backside.

I went outside to smoke a cigarette and try and remember why it was that I had agreed to let her watch TV in my room in the first place. The reason I had allowed the privilege that day was because she had followed all of the rules, she had asked permission before riding her bike all over the neighborhood looking for stray kids to play with, she had come home when she was supposed to, she wore shoes and socks without having to be told (this is a BIG deal at my house) so that’s why I had agreed to let her invade my bedroom. Baby Girl had set me up. She knew that because she’d been so good all day and followed all of the guidelines, that I would let my guard down at some point and I did. On a normal day, I would never have allowed her to be in my room for an hour without looking in on her 50 times to see what she was doing. She played me! I couldn’t believe that I had been outsmarted by a 7 year old.

I finished my smoke, wiped up the puddle of drool on the table and preceded back in the house. Baby Girl met me in the kitchen with her head hanging low. She apologized for breaking the rules and swore she would never do it again, all while looking at the floor. I was about to explain again the need to be able to trust her not to break the rules, when I realized she was smiling. I tilted her head up and asked what was so funny. My beautiful, intelligent, loving Baby Girl smiled sweetly and said, “You’re always saying that you’re fat so I knew you shouldn’t eat that candy. I was just trying to help”. What the heck am I supposed to say to that?!? I can’t beat her – she’s my child, I love her and I would never do anything to her……….that could be proven in court. So, I decided to be the adult. I said, “Baby Girl, you always tell me that I’m not fat when I say those things”. To which she replied, “And you always tell me not to argue with you.”

I went back out to the patio to smoke and count. I try to count before I react when I am angry or upset. It’s supposed to let you calm down and not say or do something rash in the heat of the moment. So, I’m out there counting……..46, 47, 48……….and she opens the door………..49, 50, 51. “Mama, I’m getting hungry”…52, 53, 54…., “What are we having for dinner” …55, 56, 57…….. I look at this beautiful, precious little angel standing in my doorway. She is everything I could’ve ever wanted in a child. She is my entire world and my heart sometimes aches with the abundance of love I have for her. I look at her and say, “Look around in there and see what you can FIND”. I’m sorry, I’ve said that I am grown; I never claimed to be mature. However, because she is my child and bears half of my DNA she quickly responded, “Does that mean you LOST our dinner?” then smiled and shut the door…………. 436, 437, 438………