Teach Your Children; Well, I Tried.

About a month ago, RJ turned six. Eventually, I'll recover from the endless weeks of school parties, graduations, musicals, and weddings and catch up with the family blog. For purposes of today, you should know that he's a six-year old boy. He still loves cars--the vehicles and the movie. More recently, however, his obsession has turned airborne: Planes--the vehicles and the movie. 

For his birthday, RJ had a simple request: "Oh, you know, I think I'd like some planes." No remote control cars. No video games. Little die-cast planes whose propellers turn only by the energy of a little boy's imagination. 

We complied: 

He was pretty excited. 

I believe that's Bulldog on the left--a key player in today's tale. 

Ignore the counter clutter. I just hadn't had time to do the weekly (er, monthly) sweep. 

For the next month, RJ forged a relationship with Dusty, Bulldog, and El Chupacabra. 

I started to bend some rules. It was the end of the year. The whining was at an all time high (pitch). I started to allow toys in the car despite having a strict "no toys in the car" policy--the result of Mom's frazzled nerves zinging one too many times as the swagger wagon turned a corner sounding like a rolling rummage sale as toys clattered from one side to the other. The swagger wagon, a fine vehicle in every respect, has one flaw: there are tracks in the floor that run from front to back, ostensibly so that the cushy captain's chairs can adjust to accommodate short legs and longer legs too. In reality, those tracks serve as crumb collectors, juice sieves, and racetracks--for little race cars to zip up and down keeping time with every stoplight and every acceleration. So, we've had a rule for a while: no toys in the car.  

As the whining increased, my resolve decreased. Every morning, both RJ and Gigi would ask, "Can I take these two cars?" or "Can I take my baby?" I'd respond, "Yes, but you can't take them inside." The days wore on. I fed them pasta for breakfast and sent them with turkey jerky and crackers for lunch. Toys in the car gave way to, "Can I take them inside with me and you take them back?" "Fine, whatever. Just get your backpack and get out of the car!" 

I found Dusty on Miss Debbie's desk when I went to confirm my lunch order for the week (hot lunch for the win!). Turns out Dusty had fallen from the swagger wagon in the parking lot and some kind soul had turned him in. I returned him and admonished RJ to be more careful and for goodness sake, take some responsibility for his toys!

This morning, the swagger wagon was due for maintenance. So, I emptied the trash bins, collected the used wipes (noses, not bottoms) and ran a ratty t-shirt over the dash in an effort to impress the mechanic who would be blessed with driving the great beast back to the shop. For totally impractical reasons, we take our cars to Norman--about 35 minutes down the road--for service. For equally impractical reasons, we took both cars and both kids this morning. 

"Mom, Can I bring Bulldog?" "Yes, just get in the car!" I sighed. And apparently, I gave a similar affirmation when he asked if he could bring Bulldog into the car dealership. I have no recollection of this, but I assume he's not lying ('cause if he is, he's in deep doo-doo). 

Cars were serviced. Daddy needed to work and headed to the office while the kids and I headed home. 

As we eased into the exit lane for home, RJ asked, "Mom, do you have my plane in your purse?" "Nope. I'm not your toy manager." 

"Oh." 

That face. That face. 

And then the tears. Heartbroken big tears and the gulping, gasping little boy question, "Can we go back and get him?" 

"Nope," I told him. "I bet next time you'll take responsibility for your own toys," I continued while furtively texting Dad at each stoplight. 

"But he was my favorite! That's why I wanted him with me today!" RJ is inconsolable. 

I let the ruse continue for another 20 minutes. I want to teach him lessons. I want him to learn that he has to take some responsibility for his own possessions. He has to learn sometime. Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young tell me, "Teach your children well." 

Well, I tried. I broke after only 20 minutes. Little boy tears are my kryptonite. He's only six, and he had only one simple request for his birthday. I hope RJ learned something. I think he did.  I told him the truth, "Daddy called the dealership, and they have your plane. Daddy is going to go get him. Daddy is your hero today." 

That smile. That smile. 

Here's the thing: I learned something too. I've never been the type to proclaim my affection loudly. I'm not a hand holder or same-side-sitter.  I have personal space restrictions (but so does the husband). I do try to set some kind of example for my kids in the hopes that they'll have an idea of what a loving relationship is.  RJ was disappointed that his dad had to work today. Those two get crazy on the weekends. I could have easily turned the car around and gone to pick-up the plane, but it was lunchtime (and I hate driving in south OKC). And, I wanted RJ to have a daddy hero today. It made me happy to see the shine on RJ when he learned that his daddy was coming to the rescue. He needed that today. I'm certainly in no position to give parenting or marriage advice. I have my fair share of failures and weak moments. But, being a parent has taught me that sometimes, the best way to show my children what a loving relationship looks like is to give dad the chances he can take to be the hero. In the end? RJ and Bulldog were reunited; the boys played soccer in the yard; and the whole family took a chilly dip in the neighborhood pool. It was a good day. 

I think we taught RJ well. If we didn't, well, we tried.