Pointed Questions from my kids require answers.  Sometimes that leaves me struggling with what to say.

About the second day of summer, as I asked Watty to pick up his trash off the floor, he rolled his eyes and gave me the big sigh. Then he yelled “why do I have to do EVERYTHING around here” and stomped off. I adjusted my attitude (mommy timeout) and then adjusted his. He did pick up the trash as expected (eventually).

Later the same day, as I was adding up their points for the day, GoGo sweetly asked me “How many points did you get today mommy?” I didn’t have an answer.

I don’t like it when my kids ask pointed questions, but they are really good at it.

A few days into the points project, my kids each asked really good questions.

Since it was about the points project, I think it would be fair to call them “pointed questions.” (pun intended).

I jotted them down on the first scrap of paper I found and carried the card in my purse a few days while I pondered a response.

Pointed Questions:

Why do I have to do everything around here?

Mommy, how many points do YOU earn?

Have your kids ever asked you a pointed question?  How did you respond? Care to share what it was?

I decided my kids would have to earn their own spending money this summer.  My goal was to get myself out of the role of saying NO quite as often.   Every time we go anywhere, my kids want me to buy stuff.  Candy, sodas, legos, video games, small plastic chunks of garbage… the list of stuff t

hey want is endless.   So the first day of summer, I stuck a list of chores on the refrigerator.  It wasn’t exactly received with open arms.

… about that first post.  I know it was a little short and dorky.  So what.  Who actually reads first posts anyway?  It’s kind of awkward, sitting on this side of the screen.  As much as I’d like to imagine an eager audience for my every post, I know that’s just not the case.  I’m pretty sure no one will read my blog for the first month of so.

That’s OK.  I feel MUCH more comfortable making some basic blogging mistakes and commit who-knows-what kind of faux pas (pronounced FOX PASS by my kids) knowing that no one is really looking.  It’s kind of like talking to my kids.  After the first minute, they aren’t listening… I’m just talking until I feel better.