Just Call Her Winona Ryder Junior...

There are times when I'm glad I go through the wee ones' backpacks nightly. I rarely miss a field trip notice or a homework assignment - though that isn't to say they don't get lost once I've seen them once. On Friday, I pulled an extra special note from Little Miss's backpack.

Ummm, excuse me?

What meals account? We don't have a meals account. There is no deposit there, so how could it be in arrears?

Little Miss doesn't eat hot lunch. I pack her a healthy and yummy lunch every single day, and never once have I forgotten. She can't eat the hot lunch anyway because she's dairy restricted, not to mention that they are generally foods I don't want her eating anyway. And for $2.50? Yeah, I'm definitely packing her a lunch.

This must be a mistake. There are three girls in her class with her name; somehow this must be meant for one of them, not for Little Miss. Right?

I mean, I know she's brought home her lunch untouched or with just a few bites taken several times, but she goes in fits and starts of eating, so there were no red flags raised, especially since she'd eat her full lunch once she got home from school. After all, she has snack, too, and I feed her a pretty big breakfast. Right?

After fifteen minutes of careful questioning, my little sneak admitted to having eaten hot lunch at school without having paid for it. She couldn't remember how many times she did it or what she ate when she got it, but she knew it was maybe more than one time. She didn't really like what she ate, but ... she wanted to be like the other kids who got hot lunch.

She knew the lunches cost money that she wasn't paying (they have a little "credit" like card that she knew didn't have any money loaded on it that they use to pay). She knew I'd find out. But she did it anyway.

I sent her upstairs to count out $7.50 to put into an envelope to take to school to pay for her lunches, and she's promised to never do it again. I don't know if I trust that, though. And I'm not sure what else I shouldn't trust.

I've already had a conversation with her teacher - who had no idea that she was buying lunch. The teacher is going to pull her card so that she doesn't have this option anymore. I still have to call the lunch staff to explain this to them, however, as pulling the lunch card is not standard practice apparently.

Someone help me through the teen years with her. Did I mention that she's five?

I am also giving away a Progresso Souper You Debut gift pack here.

Oh, and while you're at it, I finally set up a Facebook Fan page for my blog (and corrected the link here - oops!). It's way overdue. Go like me on Facebook if you would so I can get an official username - once I get enough likes. You can also follow me on Twitter, too, if you're so inclined.

Beware The Small People

On Friday, Little Miss had a day off school (again, whee!), so we had a playdate. In fact, we sort of had two playdates, as we also invited a friend's son to join us since said friend broke her foot and is pretty much down for the count for awhile.

Picture me with three four year olds running amuck in my house for three hours. Two of the three were boys (because, after all, Little Miss has no interest in girls an only plays with boys now), and Little Miss plays like a boy anyway.

They were all pretty well behaved, but three children running around playing requires an active eye. One child had to go potty, so I showed him where the bathroom was and resumed monitoring the other two until he requested my help washing his hands. All was good.

A little while later, the same boy announced he had to go potty again, but this time he wanted no help. No worries. I kept playing with the other two children, and the little boy returned shortly thereafter.

At lunchtime, one boy's babysitter arrived to pick him up. We came up from the basement when we heard her, and she was in our foyer petting one of our cats. She asked if I knew that he'd been outside. In fact, he was sunning himself in our driveway when she pulled up and the car scared him.

Ummm, no. I didn't know that my indoor only cat was outside. I thought quickly and headed to the powder room, across the hall from my garage. Where the door was still standing wide open.

Of course the babysitter had found the ummm less intelligent of my two cats sitting in the middle of the driveway. After calling briefly for Roar (no grief on the names here, folks, Mister Man was only just three when he named Meow and Roar), I realized that he was outside, too.

Whee! Fortunately, he came running from the bushes to the side of my house once I called him, and he was redeposited inside, safe and sound.

Note to self: keep track of all small children and don't trust potty breaks.

After we ate lunch, I returned the little boy to my friend with the broken foot. She was in the process of trying to build and iceberg cake for said child's birthday party the next day, and she was requesting some assistance from me. She didn't believe me when I told her that I don't build or carve cakes for a reason, but between the two of us, we came up with some workable solutions.

While I was in the kitchen helping her figure this out (and racing into the basement to find a toy dinosaur I could wash and stick next to the cake before it fell over), Little Miss and her son were playing nicely in the other room. All was well.

I gathered up Little Miss when it was time for us to go, and luckily I didn't even need to ask Little Miss to put her coat on since she'd never taken it off for whatever reason. In fact, she even had put on her mittens.

We climbed into the car and began backing out of the driveway. I heard Little Miss shaking her mitten. Yep, I heard it. It jingled. In fact, it sounded rather like money. I sighed and pulled over, requesting to see the mitten.

Little Miss refused and pulled the mitten close to her chest. Fortunately, she quickly saw reason, and I began collecting the coins from Little Miss's mitten that she'd stolen from my friend. The only good news was that they were all pennies.

*sigh*

I decided against returning to the house and making my broken footed friend in the wheelchair let me in again, as we were fortunately going to see them again at the birthday party the next day. Instead, I placed the coins in my pocket with a mental note to return them.

Note to self: Little Miss doesn't get the value of money and apparently has no compunctions about taking them from other people. Have a little chat about thievery and respecting other people's property.

I'm feeling like a great trying-it-out-SAHM this week, can you tell?

I Was Always Such A Good Girl

As a mom, one of the most important things to teach my kids is to have a moral compass. In this day and age, we need a strong moral compass considering how many around us do wrong on a daily basis and think nothing of it -- and yes, I'm talking to you mommy at daycare who parks in the handicapped spot because you can't be bothered to park two spots away. Don't you think about what that's teaching your child?

But I digress....

I do my best to make sure the wee ones know right from wrong. To know that it's important for them to feel right about themselves, regardless of what others think or do. And to be content with that.

It's a big mission isn't it? And I really have no idea how to do it other than to show on a daily basis that I believe what I tell them and that it works.

My mom taught me well. In fact, she may have taught me a little too well. I told you before about the guilt I still feel about cheating (ok, I thought I did but I can't find that post so maybe I didn't). I haven't told you yet that I also once stole.

Shockingly, I still feel guilty about it.

But worse... I stole more than once.

Do you remember when we were younger (only those of us in my generation respond please -- I don't want any of that "What are you talking about" stuff from you young folk) and we had those plastic chain necklaces with the plastic charms that we clipped to them?

I had a blue chain. I remember that. And I had a ton of charms. One day, I was in a store that sold the charms. They stored them in bins and bins and bins throughout the middle of the store. There were tons of charms. I was probably in late elementary school, and I'm pretty sure my mom and sister were with me. I saw a rocket ship shaped much like Challenger that I wanted.

I have no idea why I wanted it. And my mom probably would have bought it for me -- eventually, if not that day. But I picked it up and slipped it in my pocket. And we all walked out of the store.

Until me, the good little girl, couldn't stand the guilt. I was maybe five feet out the store when I turned around and ran back into the store to put the little rocket back into its bin. My mom never knew.

I really should have known better.

I'd stolen before. This time, I was younger. I was in fourth grade, and Leslie Field was my best friend. She was an only child, adopted, and her parents truly doted on her. She had her bedroom filled with all sorts of cool toys and a spare bedroom that was her playroom.

By no means was I deprived of anything, but I didn't have quite as much... anything as Leslie did. And I was jealous of her. We were both new in school that year, but she seemed to have an easier time of it than I did, although we were definitely best friends. Apparently as a fourth grader I felt a bit inadequate.

She had one thing (besides the awesomely cool dollhouse) that I didn't have. She had the little gold tin that slid sideways to open to reveal fruit flavored lip balm. My mom would never buy that for me. And Leslie had the watermelon flavored kind.

The generous friend she was, she often shared it with me, and I coveted that lip balm. She kept it on the shelf of her desk in her bedroom. When we were in her playroom one day, I wandered into her bedroom and pocketed the lip balm. She had so much other stuff, she'd never miss it, right? We continued playing with her massively ornate dollhouse.

The next day, she told me that her lip balm was missing. I played the concerned friend and helped her look for it. Secretly, I was triumphant. She didn't suspect a thing.

But... that triumphant feeling didn't last long. Soon I felt guilty. That night, I put the lip balm back into my pocket to return to Leslie. I could admit to her that I'd taken it, but I was a coward. I waited until we were back at her house and then slipped it underneath her chair that converted to a bed. I later "found" it and showed her.

I didn't learn from the first experience, but I certainly did from the second. And in looking back at this, in a weird way, I hope that the wee ones do try to steal when they're young. And I hope that I've somehow managed to do a good enough job in cementing their moral compasses that they realize how icky that makes them feel so that they never steal again.

Hey. It worked for me!