Apropos of absolutely nothing (except, possibly, a certain up-coming movie event), I hereby present
Rules that exist in my house
- No Harry Potter movies until you have at least three books under your belt. To the extent that I can maintain some level of wonder in my children’s lives, I will lay down rules to do so, dag-nabbit!
- Ice-cream rule #1: We get ice-cream every Friday after camp. This is iron-clad. If the ice-cream man isn’t at his usual post-camp hang-out, we find ice-cream elsewhere. (Lest you think this generous, however, the guy is there every.single.day. Ice-cream rule #1 was formulated a few years back in response to a couple of weeks of constant begging — and thus, quite handily, serves as both carrot and stick: “No! And if you don’t stop whining about it, you won’t get any on Friday, either!”)
- Ice-cream rule #2: If an ice-cream truck drives down our street, everybody gets ice-cream. Also iron-clad, because: Dude. Summer! Now, it is undeniable that this rule has occasionally led to the unfortunate (or, depending on your perspective, fortunate) circumstance of both boy and girl getting two ice-creams back-to-back, because we just got back from camp, and hey-oh! Here comes an ice-cream truck! But, you know: A rule’s a rule! (Also in my defense: Summer!).
- You can swear all you want among your compatriots, but don’t let me hear it when an adult’s in spitting range. Honestly, the love-hate affair that Americans have with curse words is more than a little redonk. The best example of this redonk-ness is, of course, at your local cineplex: Kiddies can mos def handle dozens of violent deaths and oodles of hyper-sexualized women before they turn 13, but the f-word? Heaven forfend! Slap an R on that slice of rolling danger! So the husband and I have taken what we believe to be an reasonable middle road: American adults really do freak out when kids say those words, and American culture is the culture in which we live. But we don’t really care. So have enough respect for the adults around you to lie like a rug, that’s all we’re asking.
- No biting the table. You would think this goes without saying, but at age 2 1/2, the boy proved otherwise.