Look, I know my kids are great. Any of you who know my children in real life are going to tell me that I’m overreacting and that I should be grateful that my girls are as lovely, polite, and considerate as they are. You’ll tell me that my standards are too frickin’ high and that I should just lighten up a little. I’m not denying any of that.
Still, there are times when they drive me to the very brink, and yesterday was one of those times.
A month or so ago, I sent each of them to school with a check for their respective lunch ladies so that they can have hot lunch two days a week. I KNOW I should have written the date down and done the math to figure out when the money would run out, but I didn’t. It was early in the morning in the chaos that is the last five minutes before the bus arrives and I was a little preoccupied. Sue me.
Anyway, I KNOW that the money is either gone or damned near gone (or, worse, overdrawn) and have been asking, for the last three days straight, for the girls to please talk to their lunch ladies to determine the standings of their accounts. I’ve even tucked notes into their lunch boxes asking them to do this easy bit of investigative work.
Have the done it? NO! No, they have not.
When I asked them yesterday, on the way to Beanie’s violin practice, if they’d checked their accounts (because Thursday is usually the day I take off from morning lunch making), there was an ominous silence from the back of the car. Grrr. Of course, it didn’t help that both of them had forgotten their damned lunch boxes at school at least once this past week (Beanie left hers twice and ended up toting lunch to school in bags from the grocery produce department) and that Punkin’ made some sort of remark about just having hot lunch anyway because, you know, it doesn’t MATTER if there’s money in the account or not, they will still receive lunch – the school won’t let them go hungry.
I’m thinking of sending them both to T. D. Waterhouse boot camp.
It’s not the money, really, though Punkin’s glib comment made me realize that we’ve been lacking in the girls’ financial education – it’s the fact that they’re continually blowing me off. It’s not just the lunch account, either: I’m not even going to get into the fun we had last night with the baskets full of little girl laundry that Punkin’ wouldn’t fold or put away, or the endless stream of the same requests and commands that seem to issue forth from my mouth (bring your cereal bowl to the kitchen. Close the door behind you. Don’t leave wet towels on the floor. Rinse the toothpaste out of the sink. Hang up your coat, please; it doesn’t belong on the floor in the hallway. Turn off the light if you’re not in the room or I’m going to start taking the electric bill out of your college fund). I’m starting to turn into a bitch, and I don’t like it.