Please tell me I’m not the only person out there who has a strong urge to clean closets before having a party.

I mean, it’s possible, isn’t it, that someone will open my locked bedroom door, sneak past the unfriendly guard dog, and go rummaging in my closet for a spare, I don’t know, pair of shoes to borrow, and think ill of me that my sewing projects are heaped in a pile behind that closed door?

And what is up with the need to clean a house before a party anyway? I’m going to have forty people – more than half of them under the age of 12 – passing through my house. And the weather isn’t looking very pleasant for Saturday. Will anybody even be able to see the floor in that crowd? And if they did, could they really distinguish between the crushed pretzel that just happened and the crumbs from last night’s dinner? And how clean will my bathroom look after the first hour?

OK. Enough blogging. I have to go sweep the garage.

The other day, Bill got to go to a village and pass out food and other goodies. It’s an enjoyable mission, except that he had to wear his 45 pound body armor the whole time. Imagine walking around with a 5 year old on your shoulders for 6 hours.

While there, a little boy, 6 years old, threw himself over the concertina wire just so he could get to the front of the line. I guess he cut himself pretty badly, but I guess he also thought it was worth it.

This is what an Afghani kid will do to get first dibs on a candy bar. (**See note below)

The catalogs have started to come. They don’t yet say “Holiday” or “Christmas” but you know that’s what they’re gearing up for. While I welcome yet another sign that the end of the year, and the end of my purgatory, are approaching, catalogs do not make me happy. The vast majority of these thick, glossy advertisements get put immediately into the recycle bucket. I have learned that I won’t care what I’m missing if I don’t see it. My children are not so wise, though. They have been snatching up the toy catalogs and poring through them as though the ultimate source of happiness could be found therein.

I’ve been hearing a lot of “I want.”

Today, having sat through another child showing me all the wonderful things that would make her the perfect, dutiful and loving child simply because her happiness at having all this stuff would make her thus, I called the children around and told them about the Afghani boy. I told them they needed to start thinking about what they could do for other people for Christmas instead of what they could get for themselves. And I told them to think of ONE, and only ONE thing they they really wanted for Christmas. And tell me in November.

I’m sure this isn’t the end of it.

My daughters were fascinated by the Yorkshire Terrier in the dog stroller. I think this was their first encounter with someone who treats a dog like a baby. As we left the Scout Hut, the woman who owned the dog told me she gave a stuffed animal terrier to Katie – her adolescent daughter having outgrown it. Katie was, of course, thrilled.

Later, Jenny was crying because Katie wouldn’t share the dog. “She promised,” Jenny wailed. Katie denied making any such promises.

“Katie,” I said, “You didn’t earn this dog. Somebody just gave it to you out of the generosity of their heart. Don’t you think you ought to share it and be just as generous as they were?”

“Well, Mom,” she said with angelic sincerity, “I was thinking we could send this dog to Afghanistan for the children there to have.”

Perhaps another mother would be fooled by such a sweet sentiment. “That may be a good idea. But in the meantime, can you not share with your sister? Or is it easier to share with a stranger than with your sibling?”

Bingo. She started to cry. In truth, she would rather give the toy away than share with Jenny. This is human nature. We all do this in one form or another. “Love your neighbor” is much much harder than “Donate anonymously to poor people.”

Sharing with your sister hurts. You don’t care what you’re missing if you don’t see it. But watching your sister play with your toy is torturous.

*******

The dog may or may not head for Afghanistan and some little child may or may not get himself some stitches in addition to a stuffed animal. Dr. Ray Guarendi says and writes repeatedly that you need to get rid of your kids’ stuff if you want them to be generous. The more stuff they have, the more selfish they are.

The more stuff we have, the more selfish we are.

These are the thoughts I ponder as I begin to write shopping lists.

** Note: my husband emailed to tell me that the kid was 14 and was going to such extremes to get flour or rice, not candy. It makes the story worse on both accounts: he was old enough to understand the consequences and he felt those risks were worth it for mere food staples.

I recently blogged about problems with Neighbor Girl and how I told her to go home one day. Since school has started, we see her much less. But when she is here, the problems, especially with Jenny, continue. Sunday evening, just before dinner, my 6 year old is once again in tears; it was her turn to pick the game, but NG wouldn’t let her.

I made it clear to Katie and NG that dinner was in 10 minutes and NG was to go home at that time. She likes to stay for dinner, but I think the rule will be “not on school nights.”

At dinner, I discussed the girls’ treatment of Jenny. “When was the last time Jenny got to pick a game?” I asked.

“We never get to pick. NG always picks,” explained Katie, unhappily.

“What are we going to do about this?” I asked. I’m not surprised that this is happening. I’m only surprised that my daughter isn’t complaining about it. I have had to realize that she is too nice to put up a fight. Her sense of politeness is overruling her sense of justice.

All the kids, even the boys, suggested a “House Rules” list, written down, that they could refer to. My kids know the house rules. They want the power that comes with pointing to a written rule and telling someone else they have to obey it.

So I typed up some house rules and then asked the kids for their ideas, some of which matched mine:

“Share and take turns.”

“No name calling.”

“Clean up when you are done playing.”

Some of their ideas, I never would have thought of:

“Clear your own dishes from the table.” (Apparently, NG makes the girls clear her stuff.)

“Close the door behind you.” Now that the colder weather is approaching, I have been on the kids’ cases about leaving the door open. The field mice will be seeking warmer lodging.

The boys wanted “Leave the boys alone” but I already had a rule “No excluding others.” I suggested “Ask before joining ongoing activities” and said that they could ask for 10 minutes before having to include them. Most of the time, the girls don’t want to play, they want to harass. If they have to ask to join in, and then wait 10 minutes, they will likely move on to other games.

Most interesting: while I was listing generic rules that apply to everybody (“Do what you MUST do FIRST. Play comes after work.”), the kids were thinking exclusively in terms of NG.

We’ll see how this goes.

I had some packages to send, so I packed up the four younger kids and went to the post office. The older boys stayed home, both because they wanted to, and because I actually don’t mind not taking them. Although they are well behaved and helpful with the littlest ones, traveling with only four kids makes me feel a bit less conspicuous.

But no matter about that. Today I met Lydia.

Lydia looked to be about four years old. And, unlike my four year old BOY, has no qualms about talking to strangers. And asking them lots and lots of questions.

My entourage arrived at the doors of the post office just ahead of Lydia and her mother. Apparently she had never seen such a sight and she asked her mother, “Why does she have three children and a baby?” Lydia’s mortified mother attempted to shush her with a hand gesture, so Lydia turned to me and repeated the question.

I smiled, and said I had these children because God gave them to me.

And then we got in line, about 6th or 7th back, with Lydia and her mother right behind. I hurriedly filled out two customs forms for my overseas boxes and addressed a third envelope to my husband while Lydia’s mom scribbled on her things. Lydia sat on the floor with my children and showed off her electronic alphabet toy. And we all inched forward every so often, the kids pushing the stack of boxes along.

Finally we were next in line, but Jenny continued to push the boxes past the “wait” area. I said, “Stop.” Lydia thought I was calling her name, and she thought “Stop” a rather odd name, so she questioned me about it. I explained that Jenny was pushing the box too far, so Lydia turned her attention to the box.

“Where is the box going?”

“Afghanistan.”

“What’s in the box?”

“Cookies.”

“Why are you sending cookies?”

I told her that my husband, their Daddy, was in Afghanistan, and that they had made these cookies for him. I’m sure she has no idea what or where Afghanistan is, but I see no point in answering four-year-olds with vague “you wouldn’t understand” responses. They’ll just keep asking anyway.

She asked if Bill was a cook. I guess cooks like cookies more than anybody. Makes sense to me.

She asked if Mary was a boy or a girl.

She continued to express her amazement at how many children I had. She wanted to know if they all had the same parents. I think Lydia’s mother just about died with that question.

She wanted to know why I wouldn’t let them sprawl all over the floor where people were trying to walk.

The questions continued even after the next available postmistress began weighing my mail. It was a small office, so there was no escaping her interrogation.

Finally, finally, the ordeal was over. I paid and we left. Lydia’s poor mother had tried to hush her several times, and I had smiled and told her it was okay. She is four. I have been asked the same things, and worse, by people 5 and 10 and 15 times her age, ones old enough to know better.

And it wasn’t Lydia I minded. It was the dozen or more other people in the room, who were thrilled that the little girl was asking the very questions that were in their own minds, who made me very grateful to see the door. Really, when I collected my receipt and the baby and turned around from the counter, I felt like I was center stage and under a hot spotlight.

So much for being inconspicuous.

With girls, Two is company and Three’s a crowd. Always try to have just two or four or more girls together at any time for playing.

When Neighbor Girl comes over, she prefers to play with Katie. Katie is 8, she is 10. Jenny is not yet 6, but naturally wants to be included all the time. Naturally, the age gap from 10 to 6 is big enough and is heightened by, firstly, NG being an only child, and secondly, NG having gone to traditional schools which segregate based on silly things like age.

The other day NG was here and Jenny was coming up to me every 10 minutes or so in tears. After a half hour of this, I had had enough. Older children must be nice and indulgent to younger children in my house. I refuse to be the constant arbiter of how much time one child is allowed to pester another child who wants to play with “his” friends alone. Be inclusive…or else!

So I told NG it was time for her to go home. And I told Katie it was time for her to clean her room. Twenty minutes later, Katie and Jenny were playing nicely together (in a clean room). NG took this personally and her mother kept her home yesterday.

How do you handle the neighbor kids? Other times I have doled out punishment (time outs, chores) to everybody, but I just wasn’t in the mood that afternoon.

And how do you handle the pesky younger sibling issue? Do you grant older children their “privacy”? Or do you make them learn how to cope with difficult people by enforcing inclusivity?

And any suggestion on gender wars? Man, the battles are raging here. It’s boys vs. girls on everything.

I just finished reading Managers of Their Chores: A Practical Guide to Children’s Chores (the book was loaned to me by Angoraknitter). If you struggle with home management, and I know many do, this may be the book for you.

Most of the book is dedicated to explaining why children should be doing chores, which I didn’t really need. Some of the book talked about having a good attitude (both the parents and the children) toward doing chores. Since I am the only person in this house who seems to like doing housework, there was some good advice here. I especially liked the back of the book with their “troubleshooting guide” written like the manual for an appliance (Problem: children won’t do chores; Possible Cause: no consequences for not doing chores).

Very valuable was the Master List of chores in the back which seems pretty thorough. This is a list of most things that need to be done around the house with the idea that you use this list to assign frequency and person to the chore (including Mom and Dad).

I really like the idea of young children taking their chore list with them (the book comes with special holders that clip to clothing). They claim that this helps keep distracted children on task. Since this is a huge problem in this household, I will be finding out really soon if this does, in fact, work. Sounds like it should.

Finally, and most appealing, is the ability to purchase software that will help you manage your chores and also the ability to print out the chore cards using their online program, including picture chore cards for those who can not yet read. I’m not clear if the chore cards require the additional purchase of the software or if that is provided free for book owners. I’ll have to buy the book first to find out. Anyone could get by with handwritten cards or ones done on the computer yourself, but having personally spent hours looking for appropriate free clipart to use for various chore charts over the years, having a resource of related artwork on hand is worth the money to avoid all that work.