No Guilt Mom

My nine-year-old daughter sighed and stared out the car window at the glow of the street lamps. I could hear the annoyance in her voice.

“I don’t want to talk about it”

Ugh… roadblock. And it had been such a tame conversation.

She told me about how the class had to write a lot that night. Writing during dance class? Totally weird to me. So, I asked her,

“What did you have to write during dance class?”

Bam Total shut down. She clammed up. I had asked one too many questions.

“Ok. That’s fine.” I clenched my jaw. I asked one simple question. Why did she have to treat me like this?

Then, she turned me and said, “I’m sorry.” Not a heartfelt, “I’m sorry.” Rather, the apology dripped with guilt and fear that she had deeply offended me and didn’t want me to be mad at her.

I stared at the complicated chore chart that my dad placed on our refrigerator.

42 cents for washing dishes. 20 cents for picking up my room.

When he first pitched this idea to my 10-year-old self, I wanted to do all the chores immediately.

This was my chance to earn $5 a week. Yes, I could do this!

So, I did the dishes. It took me 20 minutes and I didn’t even get enough money to buy a can of soda. Wouldn’t it be simpler to pull that red can of Coke out of our fridge?

That week, I completed a few boxes of chores from that monster list, collected my $1.15 and then ignored the list the next week.

Soon, the chore chart disappeared.

It was 6:30 AM on the first day back to school last year. I put my hand on my daughter’s fluffy floral comforter and shook her.

Gently, of course.

OK… OK… it was harder this time.  Because this was the fifth time I walked into her room that morning to pull her from bed.  This morning was close to becoming a chaotic mess.

My son stomps into my office upstairs. I’m staring at the computer trying to figure out what to write next.

His face is full pout.

“MOM! I told them I need a break!”

Uh oh. Usually when this happens, he’s prepping me for something – trying to convince me that he’s on the right side.

It’s a fight. I can feel it.