GUERILLA MOTHERING: Bowled over by the kids once again

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August 23, 2009

By LESLEA HARMON The News and Tribune Sun Aug 23, 2009, 12:39 AM EDT

It is the last Friday of summer vacation for the boys and me, and I am ready to take them out for our customary “day of fun.” I tell the boys that we are off to do something different, and that it’s going to be a surprise. Despite Seamus’ promises not to tell his brothers, Mum’s mum.

We are pulling into the parking lot of the bowling alley near our house when Sean calls out, “We should go bowling!” for the hundredth time this summer. They scarcely believe we’re finally doing it. They bound out of the van, all smiles, and they don’t even protest holding hands while we cross the parking lot.

It is not the first time they’ve been bowling, but it’s such a rarity that they are still fascinated by slippery bowling shoes and disappearing bumper rails that pop up when it’s their turn to bowl. They comment on the “Bowling in Space” mural, and point out a disco ball near the snack bar. They test out a dozen bowling balls.

Everything is new and exciting — even sitting at the obsolete electronic scoring post prompts Sean to declare himself “on duty,” like some miniature Sulu a la “Star Trek.”

They’re not fantastic bowlers, but they really don’t care. They have a great time watching the scoreboard animation between frames, and they are fascinated when they get a ball stuck in the gutter (thanks to those magical bumpers). They cheer when Mommy gets a strike, and they encourage one another to pick up a spare on every frame. They are living in the moment and enjoying it to the fullest.

It is not until we leave that the whining begins. They want to play video games, and I suggest that they bring some quarters next time, as money is tight and bowling was all Mom could afford today.

Sam, who is 8, takes this denial the hardest. “I guess we will never come back, then!”

The walk out is nowhere near as cheery as the walk in. As we load up, Sam tries another tact. “Can we go to Toys R Us and buy some Legos?” When I have to answer no again, he pouts, and his brothers start in.

Mind you, we have a playroom ankle-deep with Legos at home—and I believe it is even better stocked at their father’s house. The kids are not deprived of toys.

“Here’s a question,” I ask them. “Did you all just have a good time bowling?”

Everyone nods. “We should do it again, all the time!” Sean says.

“How about this, then? If you had a good time today, let’s just focus on the fact that we got to go bowling today, and it was a lot of fun. Can we just be grateful for what we have?”

As I circle the van to climb into the driver’s seat, my words seem to sink in. Sam says he had a good time, and thanks me for taking them bowling. I wonder if this sudden maturity has anything to do with the fact he’s sitting in the front seat of the van, now. All I know is that I’m surprised and pleased. Like all mothers of young children, I have lived with whining for a long, long time.

Kids have a way of responding in ways you don’t expect. You have to be ready with a variety of responses to their requests, confessions, and observations. I try to keep mine neutral, because the majority of my advice (“Do not hit your brother!!) goes unheeded.

I told them in that bowling alley parking lot that if they could master being happy with what they have, then they’ll be happy for their entire lives. I know it’s easier said than done—I’m working on it 24/7, myself—but never has it been more true, in an economy when jobs are scarce and hours are long.

I said a few months ago in this column that kids don’t care if you’re broke, and I meant that. They really don’t. But they do test your boundaries, test their own limits, and they do ask for what they want (God bless them). I might be encouraging them to be content with what they have because it’s become such a relevant topic for me, personally, but they’re also teaching me to speak up and ask for what I want. It never hurts to ask—but it’s vital to learn how not to hurt if you get a “no” in return.

Leslea M. Harmon is the mother of three sons, and a freelance writer in New Albany, IN. Send love notes or hate mail to Leslea.Harmon@gmail.com, or follow her tweets at twitter.com/LMHarmon.

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