Tattletales

I was in the shower this morning, enjoying my last few precious minutes of quiet, alone time for the next 15 hours, when I heard Jack’s voice though the door.  He had just woken up, and what were his first words to me?  Not “Good morning, Mama, I love you!”  Not “I can’t wait ‘til you’re done so I can give you a big hug and a kiss!”  And not even “Are you soon done so you can get me some breakfast?”

No.  Jack’s first words of the day were a tattle.  “Ben’s jumping on your bed!”

Tattletales drive me nuts.  Twenty (agh! 20!) years ago when I was teaching second grade, the children in my class soon learned to stop coming to me on the playground to solve the “He’s been on the swing forever and I want a turn!”, issue or the “She stuck her tongue out at me!” problem, or the never-ending “She says she won’t be my friend!” controversy.  I drummed into their heads from day one that they were to let me know if someone was in danger or doing something illegal, but otherwise they worked it out for themselves.  Twenty years ago you could say that because it made sense that children needed to develop their own negotiation skills.  I still try to do that with my kids, but sometimes it’s just easier to yell, “STOP IT RIGHT NOW BOTH OF YOU OR I WILL SELL ALL OF YOUR TOYS AT THE NEXT YARD SALE!” (Especially after hearing the same, escalating argument over the ownership of a Lego for the last twenty minutes.)

And that’s not to say that teachers and parents can’t occasionally model good peacemaking behavior.  I think we definitely need to do that, as children are certainly not innately equipped to fairly arbitrate every playground or backyard incident that occurs.  Just yesterday Ben and Jack were fighting over rubber bands.  You read me right.  Rubber bands that came from the salad bar at Giant.  Jack stocks up every time he goes (either on rubber bands or twist ties from the fruit department.)

Jack:  They’re MINE!  Give them BACK!

Ben:  It’s just a rubber band.  Why do you want a rubber band anyway?  You’ve got like thirty of them.

Jack:  GIVE THEM BACK!

Ben:  Mom!  Jack won’t give me any rubber bands!

Me:  Are you freakin’ kidding me?

(Okay, not really, but it’s what I’m thinking.)

Me:  Ben, did you ask Jack for the rubber band?

Ben:  Jack, can I have some rubber bands?

Jack:  NO!

Me:  So now what do you ask him?

Ben: (sounding all weary and bored) When you’re done with the rubber bands, can I have some?

Jack:  Okay.

Me:  Geez Louise, you kids are making me crazy.  You couldn’t have solved that one on your own??  And rubber bands?  Really??  When does school start???  

(Okay, not really, but it’s what I’m thinking).

I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, but my children have been tattling more lately.  And Maddie tattles sneakily, since she knows she’s not supposed to tattle.  Maddie, speaking very loudly:  “Jack!  I don’t think Mom would want you to be using the sink hose!”  (Translated):  “Mom!  Jack is using your sink hose, but you didn’t hear it from me!”  I think they’re all just getting on each other’s nerves as we adjust to all this quantity (not necessarily quality) summer time together.

It’s even trickier when it’s other children who are tattling about my children in front of their mothers.  Do I stop the offender immediately for causing discomfort to the child?  Do I pat the tattler on the head and acknowledge her foresight in stopping crazy splashing practices in the pool?  What I usually say is, “Did you ask Jack to stop splashing you?  Come see me if you’ve asked him to stop and he doesn’t.” But that response, unfortunately, gives the impression that I don’t think my children are wrong.  And I do.  I absolutely do know what crazed, misguided, rude, and unsafe acts my children are capable of.  But we’re raising a generation of children who are learning that chronic tattling is okay and solves every problems.  Hmmm.  I wonder what these chronic tattlers will be like in twenty years…

Tattling Tom:  Boss!  Tania finished the coffee in the coffee pot and didn’t perk up a new pot! 

Tattling Tania:  Well, Tom didn’t hold the elevator door for me and he saw me coming!  He saw me!

Tattling Trevor:  I was there.  He did do that. 

Tattling Tom:  I did not see her coming!  And you lie!

Tattling Tania:  No, you lie!  I hate you!  I’m telling corporate!

Boss:  Are you freakin’ kidding me?

The bottom line is that, not only do I not want to be the Prime Mediator of the house, the goddess of right and wrong, the decider of whose turn it is, and the crazy, twitching lady who says,"Who had it last?” in my sleep, but I want my kids to be able to solve their own problems, and as a bonus, I want them to be friends when they grow up.  I’d like them to have each other’s backs, to know they can call one another if their car breaks down or their roommate kicks them out or their DVD of “Best Sermons and Homilies” breaks from too many views (it could happen).  And I don’t think pitting them against each other is the way to do that.   Even now, I’d like them to feel they can comfort each other when Dave and I are (supposedly) mean and unfair, not add to it with snarky comments like “He sure deserves it, mom.”  Having a few extra sets of eyes around the house is convenient, but at what cost? 

And they had all better stop bothering me when I am taking a shower, or I swear, I am telling their father on them.