Conversations and Tidbits

James: Will aphids bite?

Me: No, they're just irritating.

James: Oh. Ok-- uh, irritating, as in annoying? Or irritating as in, they will irritate your skin?

Me: Just annoying.

James: Well, that's good!

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We have decorative ivy climbing the new fence! It's pretty cool.
We have poison ivy climbing everything else. Not so cool.
We found earthworms.
We found fire ants.
We found a butterfly.
We found grubby, leggy, swarmy things. (I think it was a disturbed ant bed.)
So, in general, we're not making fantastic headway out there.
But it's not all bad, either.
But I am seriously done with the Mary Poppins attitude to landscaping today.

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James: I found a swarm of something in one of the bricks. They look like maggots, with legs. Like this. (Makes legs with his fingers sticking from his abdomen.) Can I touch it?

Me: (It's only 12:26, and I am SO done doing the yardwork-with-kids thing already.) Honey, if you find a brick swarming with anything, just leave it be.

James: (Not looking at me...) Like that?

Me: What?

James: Like that.

Me: Like... what?

James: Like that bee? (Points at a hovering bee on the porch.)

*sigh*

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EmBaby: Em 'a want 'a swing!

Me: (There's an empty swing right in front of her.) Well, ok, go swing.

EmBaby: Em 'a want 'a THAT swing. (The one her brother is in, of course.)

Me: Well, that one's in use, Baby. You can pick one of the other swings...

EmBaby: *bursts into tears*

Me: Well, Love, a fit won't get you what you want. If you need to throw this fit, you can do it in your room. If you want to swing, you need to stop with the fit.

EmBaby: *sniff* *sniff* OK. I all done. *sniff* Em 'a want 'a swing.

(What's the computer code for an endless loop? Yeah, insert that right about... here.)

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And the general MO of the day: don't think about what you do before you do it.

EmBaby comes to me, crying that John bonked her in the head with a dirt clod.

Gah. We have discussed this, I don't know how many times. We. Do. Not. Throw. Dirt. Period. (But particularly not at people.)

Me: JOHN! Did you throw dirt clods?

John: (in his most humble, I really don't want to be telling the truth right now, voice) Yes.

Me: Don't we have some kind of guideline about that?

John: Don't do it.

James: Um, Mom. I was part of that. You know how when you throw dirt clods and they come apart due to the... something-something... friction and gravity... mumble-something... time-space continuum... average PSI... inhalation... (OK, I wasn't paying attention - his explanations get overly involved and unnecessarily exhausting. I've taken to standing there, looking stern until his lips stop moving and he makes eye contact again. So shoot me. But I did give him immediate credit for 'fessing up to his part in it before I even had to ask.)

Basically, they were playing some kind of game wherein James rides his bike and John tries to hit him with dirt clods as he goes by. Aside from the fact that I think that's a weird thing to play, I have other problems with it. The thing about moving targets, of course, being that they often bring into the line of fire non-moving, non-targets. And when you're seven, it's not like your aim is the greatest.

So, I ran through my mental parenting rubric:

Told the truth the first time, +5 pts.
...without me reminding him of the importance of doing so. +10 pts.
Spotted the error in their thinking process, +3 pts.
...without me having to point it out. +10 pts.
Sibling coughed up a truthful inclusion confession on his own, +20 pts.
Both parties showed concern (ok, some awareness) that their actions, however unintentional, had negatively affected someone else. +50 pts. (been workin' on that one for a while!)

So it's not 100% (that would be reserved for "thought things through before doing them" - it will be a Very Happy Day when that happens!) But it's not bad for a 7yo and a 9yo. I couldn't really justify leaping into Lecture Land. They handled it well. I'm proud of them.

But I'm still done doing the yardwork-with-kids thing. :-P

That's why I'm in here, blogging, under the pretext of figuring out what to fix for lunch.