The very day after this happened, I came to pick G up from school. He was eating something. Mmmnom-nom-nom, he goes, as he gets in the van. Turns out it was just ice from the frozen water bottle I packed him. Dork.
The day after that was different. He was chomping on a large ziploc bag full of chocolate chips when I pulled up! He says "a friend" gave it to him. His "friend" didn't want it. His "friend" got the chocolate chips from his mom, so we know it's safe.
I told him to stop eating the chocolate chips *right then* and we would ask Dad what he thought about the idea.
"You just want to steal my chocolate! I never get to eat anything I want! It isn't FAAAAAIIIIRRR!!"
Oh, great. Little kids' eyeballs pop open in the "I know what's going to happen next and I don't like it" mode. I try to talk him down that we just need to "clear" it with Dad, and I won't take the chips, but don't eat any more, ok?
"They're not chips! They're chocolate! You're not listening to meee!" *meltdown*
Patrick's face is studiously blank. He knows not to say anything. Emperor, in his seven-year-old wisdom, points out that Mom and Dad SAID not to do this again, and Dad's gonna be mad.
Thanks, Emperor. That helped a lot.
G, I tell him, those are YOUR chocolate chips. No one will take them. I just want Dad to clear everything to make sure it's safe. I know Dad wouldn't want me to just let you eat them without talking to him first, ok?
"He's going to say NO!" G sulks angrily.
"Ohhh, you might be surprised," I tell him. (Might be, but almost certainly won't be, is what I don't add to that statement.) "But we won't know until we ask."
Later, D says things about how he "has to think about it" and the chips are still in my cabinet. G keeps bugging about it, but D says he has to think about it some more.
I swear, we do feed the child. Three meals a day, and sometimes snacks, too. Yesterday, he ate a Baconator, a chocolate Oreo Frosty and THREE LARGE FRIES from Wendy's. I have the receipt to prove it. Of course, after I paid and was coming over to the table, Patrick and G had their fingers in their Frosties and were mock-screaming, "There's a finger in our Frosties! We're gonna SUE!"
Latest news: G wants to donate $100 to the church missionary fund through the youth. Isn't that nice? Now, can he have the money? He'll do some jobs around the house for it.
$100. Jobs around the house. Well, if you weed the rock garden I will pay $5 an hour as always. He gets out there and within 10 minutes freaks out because there's poison ivy in there. Um, the solution? Leave it alone and stand there, not working.
I'm not paying for that. Missionary families are going to starve as a result of a bumper poison ivy crop here at home. Sorry, guys. I'm really great with giving charity, but I do NOT want my kids dictating how much I'm giving, when. And then their getting the credit for how spiritual they are.
Honestly, I think God will take care of these people and if I don't work on developing my children's character, we're all in big trouble. G needs to learn to work at unpleasant jobs sometimes. To follow directions even when he hates it! Well, we're working on that, is all I can say.
In other news, missionary giving has taken a big step back here at home (waiting for flames in the comments, sorry). Elf and Emperor are starting to realize that the dollar they give to the missionaries is a dollar they could have spent on a new toy. I think it's going to take some time to get back into balance, but the days of, "ALL my money is going to the missionary fund" are probably over for these kids. Offerings are literally offerings of yourself, your time, and your labour for other people working for the same cause.
I think next time they give an offering, it might be a smaller amount but MEAN more.