When I was sixteen years old I had my own phone line. Not just a phone in my room, but my own line with my own phone number. To a sixteen year old of today, that would seem obvious, but back in 1987 that was the bomb.
I recently confessed to my parents that when I was grounded from the phone (as in, they unplugged it from the wall and took it out of the room) I would wait until no one was around and pull out the $10 spare phone I had bought and stored in my closet. Of course, I turned the ringer off, so I couldn’t receive calls, but I could still make calls.
My mom was livid.
She was furious.
“I thought we could trust you.”
My dad thought it was funny. (Not funny in front of my mom. Funny after she left the room.) Actually, maybe more than funny, he found it clever.
Fast forward to this morning. My daughter got up in the morning and ran to me.
“I think my pull-up is dry! Is it?”
I checked it and found it to be dry. Hugs, high-fives. What a great way to start the morning. She ran to sit on the potty. I realized she was pooping and she looked at me and said “I have been holding that in all night.” Congratulations all around. We added a magnet to her chart. I was secretly thinking it had helped that I have backed off the issue. She obviously wants it and will do it when she is ready. Maybe now is that time!
We go about the rest of our morning routine. I pick something up and open her closet door to put it away…
…at which point I find her totally soaking pull-up from last night on the closet floor. She had taken it off and put on a new one for me to feel.
She denied it twice. The third time she admitted that it was hers but from another night. Finally she admitted it was from last night.
It’s not even that she did it. I think it’s pretty darn clever myself. But the acting that went along with it. If I could reward such ludicrous behavior, I would make an Oscar out of tin foil to place on her shelf.
I was 16 when I was pulling closet schenanigans. She is four. I have a feeling I am going to get much worse than I gave.