Comstock Chronicles: The Broken Fruit Cup

Had one of those moments where I'm pretty sure that what I'm telling the children is advice I could take to heart too. 

They were having a ball outside in the front yard playing rope-tag with Phil. This is like ordinary tag, except that the person who is "it" tries to tag the others with a rope that is tied to one of our house's pilasters. The children had been asking Phil to play this with them all week and now they'd gotten their wish.

While they played, I made fruit salad, served it up in plastic cups, and brought it out on a tray. It was the kind of fruit salad with marshmallows and sour cream and desiccated coconut, definitely a favorite in our house, and last night it was standing-in for dessert. 

The kids snatched their cups and ran back out onto the grass to continue a quasi-game of tag while eating. Before long one kicked the plastic cup out of the other's hand and it broke on the cement. Fruit salad spilled across the concrete. On the verge of tears, the wounded one ran inside while the offender was made to clean up the mess, and was told that she'd need to give the remainder of her own fruit cup to her brother.

There followed a stony silence after that. The two older children were sulking and pouting elsewhere while our youngest played on our slide as if nothing unpleasant had taken place. Phil finished his fruit cup and said, "Thank you for bringing us this delicious dessert. It's a pity about the shenanigans."

As I waited to eat my own fruit cup, I considered what Phil had said. It was a shame that their game of rope-tag and the evening in general had to be ruined because of a broken plastic cup. How long would they pout or rage before deciding to make amends and continue on with their evening? This could take awhile. In fact, I decided I wasn't going to wait for them. They needed a shove in the right direction, so I summoned the two waring children and gave them the lecture that I need to take to heart too.

"There has been an accident," I said. "It is unfortunate. But you can choose right now to make things right with each other and decide who gets what, or you can go sulk in your bedrooms and miss out on desert and more rope-tag with Daddy. You choose. I previously said Rose you have to give your fruit salad to Lee. I take that back. You both can talk it over and decide who gets what. So, do you want to hear each other's sides of the story and then divide the remaining fruit salad? Or do you want to pout and miss out on dessert and games?"

They wisely decided to sort things out with one another but they wanted to do it in the side yard where no adults could see them, which was fine with the adults. It took less than five minutes for them to sort it out and then they returned to divide the remaining fruit salad and play more rope-tag. And I thought, "Abby, you can do that too."

When one child comes home from school moaning and groaning about the injustices done, when one kid doesn't want to go on a trip and tries to ruin it for everyone else, when someone forgets to clean up their mess or do their job, I don't need to let it ruin the day or hour or moment. I can choose to sort it out and continue on in the day, or nurse a wound in isolation while waiting for someone else to do something. The better choice is pretty clear.