Jada, one of my twelve year old twins, rarely asks for anything, but for the last three or four months, she has been pleading for me to buy her a particular halloween costume.
It was only $20, but when you have eight kids at home, $20 for one person can easily turn into $20 for _each_ person (the well, _she_ got this, so can't I have that?-syndrome), so I've been trying to avoid the issue by using all the common parental tricks. I've tried ignoring it. I've tried diverting with cunning questions like "So, how was school today?" I've tried suggesting tasty alternatives such as "Why don't all we go out to dinner instead of trick or treating this year?"
They all work a bit, but before long the conversation comes back to the costume.
Oddly enough, the other twelve year old, Alexis, has been asking for a rip-stick skateboard for about the same length of time. We have a zip line in the side paddock, and, so far, touch wood, we have only had two physics lessons (things to do with gravity and Newton's First Law) from the zip line, and it was Alexis both times. You can imagine that I'm reluctant to tempt fate with a skateboard with only two wheels, but she's been every bit as determined as Jada.
I have been resisting heroically, but the tipping point was reached a couple of days ago when their mother was in Nashville pitching songs, and I had to accompany them both to a well-child doctor's visit. As fathers do, I was teasing them all the way there, telling them they'd probably be getting a needle, all the while thinking it'd be blood pressure, temperature-taking, and a pat on the head.
You can imagine my horror when I discovered they would have to have not one, but _three_, injections. My beautiful, precious, breakable little ballerinas would have _three_ needles!
Of course, I switched immediately from teasing-father mode to highly-protective-father mode.
"Ok, girls. This might sting a little bit, but it has to be done. And you can hold my hand, if you want to. If it hurts, just squeeze."
And in an attempt to brighten their outlook, as the doctor walked in, I said "And the doctor said that you could each have an ice cream!"
Our excellent pediatrician, who has been looking after them since they were pathetic, sick, tiny, premie babies, picked up on it at once, saying "Yes, you can.", and then ever so helpfully added "Is there anything else you want? Shoes? Clothes?"
Naturally, Jada instantly answered "My costume!!", and Alexis said "My Ripstick!!"
There's no disgrace in admitting defeat, especially when it is by daughters, so I quietly said "Ok."
"Really??", they chorused.
"Yep."
Followed by lots of things like "Yay!", and "I love you daddy!", and even, "I love the doctors!"
All was then well until we went to get the costume yesterday. When we got home, and Jada tried it on, she realized that the wig was extra. "It's just $10, daddy."
Sigh
Like most families, we live on a budget, so if I was to be strictly fair, and spend $30 on each kid, we're now talking $240, but I quickly conceived a cunning plan. The costume plus the wig would be about $30. The Ripstick was $29.50. I could satisfy the twelve year olds, for about equal money, and if anyone else complained, I could call it a compensation for getting three needles each. Brilliant, right?
Off we went to Walmart, grabbed some pizza for dinner, a few odds and ends, and the Ripstick, and stood in line with the Walmartians for what seemed like hours. I went to pay the bill, and discovered that Alexis had picked up a $60 Ripstick, instead of the agreed $30 one. I sighed once more, and quietly paid the bill, and we headed off to Party City to get the $10 wig, which turned out to be $16. Now if I'm going to be fair, I'm up for about $500!
Sigh
Never-the-less, we're home, and the costume looks great, and we're riding the Ripstick without testing Newtonion laws, and everyone has accepted the three-needles explanation.
I'm probably not going to be fair.
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