Why Even Argue?

We don't always fight. And we always love each other.

           It’s useless to argue with a 6-year-old. But somehow, some way, I always get sucked into it. Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe I just feel the need for Chris to understand the true reasoning behind my decisions. Despite my knowledge, the other day I found myself once again position facing off against the staunch offense of a kid that was desperate for some ice cream.

            Imagine the scene – a large, sweaty woman and a small screaming child standing in the street in front of our house, both intent on becoming the victor of this particular fight. The child screaming for answers with fists clenched. The woman providing answers through clenched teeth and a screaming headache. They just weren’t the acceptable answers for a kid.

            I blame it all on the dude in the truck. I was slowly herding Chris home after playing in the 100-degree heat at the playground across the street. She was resisting every step of the way and her little friends with impossibly late bedtimes and lax parents weren’t helping. It was then all the little girls on bikes and scooters stopped in their tracks. Yes, we heard the unmistakable, peppy music box sounds of the dreaded ice cream truck.

I said I want ice cream!

            For a few months, I had been able to escape the ice cream truck with a trick I heard someone else tell. A woman I know said her parents used to tell her when they heard music it meant the truck was out of ice cream. Genius! It did fool Chris for a little while until she heard the music and then saw people buying actual ice cream. Excuse shattered.

            Now that I can no longer stretch the truth and Chris knows that there is indeed ice cream in said trucks, she begs for it whenever we see them. And I have to rack my brains for reasons we can’t buy it, when in a perfect world a simple negative should suffice.

            It’s not that I have anything against ice cream trucks per se. I do so love ice cream myself so in theory I think they’re a fantastic idea. But maybe I’ve seen too many “To Catch a Predator” episodes about child molesters and Dateline specials about tainted food to be comfortable with the trucks being steps away from my own child.

            So of course I have my answers ready when the inevitable jumping up and down and begging commences.

            “No, we have popsicles at home,” I begin.

            “But they’re not ICE CREAM. I want ICE CREAM. Not a POPSICLE,” Chris says I her “duh” voice.

            “No, I don’t have enough money,” I counter.
            She runs breathtakingly close to the creeper (yeah, I know I’m stereotyping – sue me) in the van and asks him how much the frozen heaven costs. She runs back to me screaming, “It’s only a dollar! I have a dollar from my allowance!”

            “No,” I say, my jaw starting to ache from the clenching. “We don’t buy ice cream from the trucks because we don’t know the people driving them and you don’t know if they’ll hurt you.”

            Once again, the duh voice comes out and this time is accompanied by a hand on the hip.

            “That’s why you’re here. To make sure no one snatches me.”

I know you're not telling the truth.

            Stupid logic.    

“OK,” I say with a huff. “We don’t buy ice cream from the trucks because we don’t know the people or if they’ve done anything bad to it. It could be poisoned.”

This argument doesn’t fly either, as she has seen people WITH HER OWN EYES eat the ice cream and they did not get sick.

So here we are. I am finally at the point where I scream shrilly “I said no! That’s it! I don’t need another reason! Get in the house!”

And this is also the point of utter meltdown for my usually sweet little girl. This is the point where she lashes out and tries to hurt me with whatever angry bombs she has in her arsenal. It doesn’t take her long to point the gun right at my heart and pull the trigger.

“I want to call daddy. I bet daddy will let me have ice cream because he is a kind and generous father.”

Ignore her Old Testament language –that’s probably the result of the children’s bible Grandma just bought her. The point is that she figured out early on as all kids magically do that if all else fails, pit the parents against one another.

Fortunately Daddy didn’t answer her call and she fell asleep in unfairness of it all. I was able to intercept Daddy first and was pleased that he backed up my position. I am confident that at times he must argue with Chris too, although she probably gives up sooner when going up against him. Sometimes he has to be the bad cop and not give in to her every whim, just like I have to stand firm. But from now on I will try to remember his words of wisdom whenever she is looking for a fight.

When I told him how he was sooooooo much nicer than me he laughed and said, “I will bask in her favor for as long as it lasts, because I know soon I will do something she doesn’t like and I’ll be the bad guy.”

Hopefully that comes soon.

My point...and I do have one.