A few days ago, there was an incident in which Maj locked Kallan in a small unfamiliar darkened garage. Only for a few moments, but Kallan was scared and alone and trapped and betrayed for those few moments. Once released, Kallan came crying and shrieking to find me. Maj followed behind, shrugging her shoulders carelessly, “I don’t see what the big deal is . . . not like anything could have happened to her in there. She was only locked up for a tiny bit and then I opened the door. Besides, it was an accident . . . I entered the code to shut the door and then I told her to run. If she had run when I told her to run, this would never have happened.”
There are moments in which I am so angry at one of my children, I do not trust myself to speak.
I sent Maj away.
A little while later, she asked to rejoin the family. Mark called up to her, “Are you ready to apologize to your sister?”
And then instead of apologizing, Maj began to argue about how Kallan was the one at fault, because she did not exit the garage in a timely fashion when Maj issued instructions.
There are moments in which I am so angry at one of my children, I do not trust myself to speak.
I spoke anyway.
“Let me get this straight, Maj. Your argument is that Kallan was not injured because the time she spent trapped was brief? Your argument is that she was supposed to dive out under a moving garage door even though she doesn’t know if this is a safety door that will stop if it hits her? Your argument is that her tears and her fear and her sadness are meaningless because you ended the terror after a few moments?”
Maj smoothed her features into exaggerated innocence, “Yes. Kallan was in no actual danger, and I do not owe her an apology.” She scoffed, “A few minutes in darkness is not the end of the world. She is such a baby.”
Mark suggested, “Maybe your mother and I should let Kallan lock you in the garage for a few minutes, so that you can see what it’s like.”
Maj waved her hand dismissively, “Go ahead. It’s not that big a deal.”
I turned to Maj, “Alrighty, then. So here’s what we are going to do. You are either going to walk your butt over to your sister and apologize in meaningful heartfelt fashion, or the three of us are going to hold you down and spit on you. One slobbery spit from each of us.”
Maj’s eyes opened wide, “You have gone completely insane.”
I glared at her, “I am sane. Take note, Maj. This is me sane and furious. Three gobs of spit running down your face and your arms will do no actual long-term damage. You can wipe the spit right off. No harm done. The terror you feel will be short-lived, germ-phobic you. No big deal. We won’t even owe you an apology.”
Maj turned pleadingly to Mark, “DADDY!???”
Mark made a spit-gathering sound in his mouth.
Love that man.
So then there were hurried effusive heartfelt apologies of the meaningful arm-twisted sort as Maj worked to resolve the situation without being spat upon by her family.
And then we had several discussions about empathy over the next few days.
Which brings us to this afternoon’s discussion . . .
“Hey, Maj?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“You know how Kallan has that four-day camping trip coming up? That outdoor-school thing you did two years ago?”
“Obs, Mother. I am going to get to be an only child for four days. I am totes aware.”
“She needs to bring a pair of tall rubber boots, and I am thinking I would like for you to offer to lend her your boots.”
“Obs not, Mother. The K’s footish leg-ends are coming nowhere near my boot babies.”
“OK, stop saying obs for obviously. Got that?”
“Totes, Mother. I totes got it.”
“So you won’t let your sister borrow your boots?”
“Obs not. I mean, obviously not. They are my boots and they are planning on staying home with only-child me during this camping trip.”
“So remember what I said about being as nice to your sister as you are to your friends? Remember what I said about being as empathetic and caring and lovely to Kallan as you are to your classmates?”
“Mother, none of my friends need to borrow my boots.”
I stare at her, “So let’s just call this an empatest. So far, you are failing.”
“An empatest?” Maj giggles.
“Yes, babe. A test of your empathy. You have been mean to your sister on several occasions over the last few days . . . imagine how she must be feeling. She loves you and you are making her sad with your cruelty. You know she is excited about this camping trip, and she has tried to talk to you about it several times. I think lending her the boots would be a nice gesture.”
“So let me get this straight. You want me to just offer her the boots as if it’s from the kindness of my heart?”
“Yes, Maj. Make the offer as if it comes from the kindness of your heart.”
“Don’t you think she will be suspicious?”
“Doesn’t the fact that you worry that she might be suspicious of your motives make you feel pretty crappy about the sistering you have been doing around here lately?”
“So you’re saying I should be practicing my empathy so that I will be prepared next time there is an empatest?”
“Yes, Maj. Go practice.”
A few minutes later, I walk into the living room and I find Maj draped over Persie the Labrador. Persie is squashed and nervous as Maj wraps her arms around the dog’s belly and holds tight, “Look, Mother! I am practicing my empathy!”
“You are a weird girl, Maj.”
“I am an empasweater! A warming garment of empathy!”
“An empasweater?”
“Yes, Mother. The dog was totes cold and I sensed this with my empathetic powers. I have made myself into a sweater of warming empathy . . . an empasweater. It’s so ob.”
“I told you to stop saying ob for obvious.”
Maj corrects me, “Actually, you told me to stop saying obs for obviously. You did not mention ob for obvious.”
Sigh.
“So is this empasweatering inspiring you to treat your sister more kindly?”
“Totes, Mother.”
“Carry on, then . . . but know that if you empasweater your sister, I am going to spit on you.”
Maj speaks into the Labrador’s fearful ear, “Do you see what I have to put up with, dog?”
Later in the evening, Maj turns to Kallan, “I was thinking you might want to borrow my rubber wading boots for your outdoor school. They will look really cute on you, and that way your clothes won’t get ruined during the soggy hiking.”
Kallan is delighted and surprised, “Thank you, Maj!”
Maj and Kallan run off together to see if the boots fit Kallan, and I hear Maj say to Kallan, “In other news? Mother is insane.”
Kallan giggles, “Obviously, Maj.”
Maj giggles as well, “Obs. Totes insane.”
I listen as Kallan happily tries on the boots and Maj admires them, “They are perfect! You know what, Kallan? I may also have a sweater you can borrow.”
Snort!
