Family

Kiki and Link both had a youth activity. Patch had an awards ceremony to attend and Howard planned to take him. This left Gleek and I at loose ends. I briefly considered taking Gleek along to Patch’s event, but it is hard to be ten and see other people honored when you are not. Also a big room filled with people is guaranteed to wind Gleek up into a high energy state and then there would be frustration with a high probability of scolding. I wanted for her to have something special, just for her. However I also knew that if that if I preempted all her homework, there would be stress in the morning. So we needed special and routine all rolled into one. Everyone else departed leaving Gleek and I alone.

I consulted Gleek to see what she would like to do. Or rather, I spoke at Gleek while she fiddled with a bean bag. She tossed it to me. On a whim I tossed it back. Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch. It must have been one of the earliest games in the existence of humanity, yet it was oddly satisfying because I was feeling mellow and not inclined to run around getting things done. The game was simple, but Gleek and I were together, facing each other, both of us giving the game our full attention. She began perfecting a two handed fling. I began catching and throwing with only my left hand. I’m not particularly dextrous with my left, so I loved that magic moment when my brain somehow calculated exactly where to place my hand so that the beanbag would thunk right into the middle of my palm. Then I could, almost casually, curl my fingers around it. Catch.

Our evening needed something simple, like the game of catch. Something that would slow down both Gleek and I, because we are both prone to running too fast for too long.
“Pioneers used to play with beanbags.” Gleek said. She has been studying US History with a teacher for whom the subject is a passion. Her class has been grouped into Indian tribes, then into European immigrants, and now into colonies. In the coming months she will live through bits of revolutionary war, western expansion, civil war, industrial revolution, world wars, cold war, civil rights, and near to modern day. Gleek has been thriving on this diet of history. I keep hearing random bits about how life was in the past. There is a longing in Gleek’s voice as she tells me these things. She admires these times when life was slower. I think because she struggles to slow down in the face of modern information overload.

Between one catch and the next I knew what we needed.
“We’re going to have Pioneer homework time.” I said. “We’ll turn out all the lights and do your math by candle light.”
Gleek’s face brightened into a smile. “I’ll go put on my pioneer clothes!” and she dashed to find her costume.

Candle light imparts a hush to the room it inhabits. The edges of the room were dim, so Gleek and I had to draw close in order to see the words on the page. Without declaring it to be so, both of us dropped our voices quieter. Subconsciously we only needed to fill the lit space, not all the way to the dark corners. Gleek worked her way through the math happily. She only paused once when she remembered the candles she’d made with her Grandma. Those were fetched and lit as well. In moments of conversation we determined that a Pioneer Homework hour also needed and accompanying Pioneerish dinner. My original plan of buying Wendy’s did not fit with candles. After the math was done we hitched the horses to the wagon (my van) and drove over to the market (a grocery store.)

Gleek swished her pioneer skirt as she carried her basket through the aisles of the store. Her apron was tied neatly around her waist and her bonnet dangled down her back in best Laura Ingalls Wilder fashion. We were both carrying baskets instead of pushing a cart because Gleek deemed this to be more historically correct. Pizza, hot pockets, and yogurt were all rejected as foods that a pioneer would not have. Gleek’s desire for historical correctness was sorely challenged by the display of oreo cookies, but history won. We reached the check out stand with Swedish meatballs (some pioneers were Swedish), broccoli, and a pumpkin pie for sharing. At the last minute a desire for bubble gum won out over history, but it was stashed away to be consumed later.

We came home to a dark house and re-lit the candles we’d blown out. Gleek read while I prepared the food. Then we ate it together. I warned Gleek that Pioneer time would be over when the others came home. I wanted to forestall potential conflicts. Kiki and Link blew in the front door with a draft of cold air. They were startled by the candles, but urged us to keep them. “It’s nice.” Link said. “can we do it again tomorrow?” Patch agreed when he came home. Snack and bed were accomplished far more quietly than usual. All of us responded to the change in lighting. It isn’t something we can do every night, but I’m definitely stashing the idea into my bag of tricks for future use. I could use more lovely candlelit evenings.

This morning I declared a new rule; that for every candy wrapper I found outside of a garbage can, I would confiscate one piece of candy. It was not a reasoned or calculated declaration, just the natural response of knowing that the influx of Halloween candies would mean garbage all over the house. Sometimes these in-the-moment rules feel brilliant in the moment of creation. Sometimes they are. Other times, not so much. The problem with new rules is that they then have to be enforced. In theory since I am both the maker of family rules and the enforcer thereof, no problems should result. Yet they do.

My new rule was immediately met with rules lawyering. What if Gleek left the wrapper out, but I confiscated a piece of Patch’s candy? How would that be fair? I answered that perhaps they should just pick up any wrapper they saw rather than stopping to worry whose it was. The first confiscations occurred within thirty minutes. The first post-confiscation argument about fault happened thirty seconds later. This is where rule enforcement breaks down. Now I know that any confiscation will likely result in an argument. Instead of instantly applying consequences when I see a wrapper, I pause. Is this a good time to deal with an argument? Should I pretend I didn’t see the wrapper and hope they’ll snatch it up? Should I draw attention to the wrapper and give them a chance to clean it up? The rule will be most effective if I apply the consequence quickly, efficiently, and without comment. In theory it will solve the problem of candy wrappers. However it also creates hidden incentives. If Gleek has a candy stash and Link only has one piece, he has no incentive other than good citizenship to clean up his wrapper. An angry child might fish wrappers out of the trash and strew them all over the house on purpose in order to get a siblings’ candy confiscated. Suddenly instead of a simple action and consequence I have to start listening to cases and weighing motives. The rule which was supposed to make my life simpler can instead be a time sink.

Then there is the issue of co-enforcement. I made up my new rule instantly without consulting Howard in advance. In this case he liked the rule, but what if he disagreed with it? We’ve done that to each other before, requiring the other to decide between parental unity or discipline preferences. Even when we agree on the rule and consequence, our enforcement techniques will differ. The kids will quickly learn which parent is more lenient on which rules. They will take advantage of this knowledge.

All of this makes rule making sound futile. Yet it isn’t. The creation and abolition of rules helps our family define who we are. All those arguments about “Why should I lose my candy when he left the wrapper on the floor” are really discussions about compassion, fairness, and boundaries. We’re learning methods of confrontation both good and bad. Sometimes it all goes wrong and ends with slammed doors. Other times we wend our way through argument into laughter. Bit by bit we define who we are when we are together as a family. Rules come into existence as they are needed and they wisp away when the purpose has passed. Hopefully somewhere within the next three days this particular rule will help us re-define ourselves as people who throw garbage in the trash can instead of waiting for mom to pick it up.