Of Silly Bandz and Bananas

My stomach growled.

It was 5:00 on Monday night, and McKenzie and I were still 30 minutes away from home. I wandered up and down the isles of the craft store with McKenzie in tow - I, looking for a nice shelf to hang on the wall, and McKenzie begging for just one of each treasure she passed. We were both discouraged because neither of us could get what we wanted, and as my stomach gave one more protest of it's emptyness, I decided to call it a day. "What?!" McKenzie exclaimed. "We're not going to buy even one thing?"
"Nope." I said. "They don't have the thing that I need."
"But, we've been here forever! We can't walk out without buying something!" she glanced to her left at the glittery-pens, "Can I get one of these?"

Being the awesome mother that I am, I said no to the glitter-pen and jumped on the teaching moment. "Kenz, I came here to buy a shelf...I didn't come here to by something. And, since they don't have the shelf I want, I'm going to save my money so I can buy it later at a store that does have it. If I bought something else here, then I wouldn't have any money left to buy a shelf when I found it." It was evident that she didn't appreciate or understand the lesson when, seconds later, we passed the packs of silly-bandz near the front entrance. With a jump in her step, she ran, "Oh! But can I get one of these?! Please, mom? Please?" I thought of the 59 silly-band bracelets she had at home and it was easy to say no. I turned around the corner to exit through the front doors as she stood admiring the packs of plastic bracelets that are unfathomably popular right now, and just as I was about to walk through I turned around to see that she still hadn't caught up with me. "McKenzie? Come on, dear. Let's go." "Kenz? Come on." She popped out from behind the kiosk with her hands in her pockets and a funny look on her face. "Okay," she said. "I'm coming." She passed by me quickly and walked out the doors without another protest.

I knew. I just knew. Not because of McKenzie's personality . . . in fact, I was shocked . . . but I still knew.

"Hey," I called after her. "Hey, do you have something in your pocket?" She kept moving quickly toward the road and I stopped abruptly - no question left. "McKenzie! Come back here, right now." The stern tone of my voice surprised me a little.
"What, mooooom?"
"I said come here."
She walked back, her eyes rolling so hard that her head became involved in the circular motions, "Whaaaat?"
"Do you have something in your pocket?" I repeated.
She pulled her left hand out of her pocket and unclenched her fist to reveal one, yellow silly band.
"Did you take this?" I asked.

Busted. And she knew it. The frustrating thing for me, though, was that the only remorse I could detect was coming from the fact that she was caught... not that she stole.

"I'll go put it back," she huffed. "I know exactly which pack I took it out of, so I'll just put it back." We walked silently back into the store and my mind raced through the different options I could think of on-the-spot. I wasn't sure which option was best, so I guessed. "I want you to get the whole pack of silly bandz that you took that one from and bring it to me." I went to stand in the long line, and when she brought the pack to me she complained again, "Mom, why can't you just buy this for me?"

I crouched down to her level and looked into her eyes. "McKenzie. Do you understand what is going on here? You just stole a silly band. That is unacceptable, and I'm very disappointed in the choice you made. There is no way I will buy that pack for you. When we get up to the front of the line, you will explain what happened to the cashier and give the pack back to her."

When we reached the front of the line, McKenzie looked at the cashier and said, "I accidentally....um. I took this," and handed the pack across the counter.
"That's okay," the cashier said, "as long as you brought it back."

We walked back out of the store, but I still didn't feel settled about the whole thing. Returning the band was too easy for McKenzie - - - I felt the consequence hadn't fit the crime yet. Once in the car, I explained to her that because she had taken a band out of a 12 pack of silly bandz, she would have to give me 12 of her silly bandz once we returned home, and tell Daddy what had happened. There... this consequence fit the crime a little bit better.

I didn't have to ask her again to give up 12 of her silly bandz - she did that as soon as we arrived home - and I finally saw a little remorse when it came time to tell Daddy what had happened. It took her 40 minutes, with the privilege of dinner being held hostage, before she worked up enough courage to come into the dining room and, in her own words, explain what happened.

Her confession was met with love and understanding from Brian - I love him so much - as he praised her for fixing her wrong choice and helped her understand that the bad feelings she had felt were coming from the Spirit because he was trying to help her see that she had made a wrong choice.

And the next day..............


Target was ridiculous.

It took most of my concentration to push the red shopping cart through the mobs of people preparing for the start of school: elementary school kids grabbing pencils and glue, high school kids grabbing binders and pens, college kids grabbing bookcases, beanbags and futons - it was seriously a madhouse. I needed a total of four things, and finished my shopping quickly...which was good, because Miles was trying to climb out of the front of the cart and into my arms, Carson was complaining about having to share the basket of the cart with a big box, and McKenzie was walking along beside me getting distracted by everything (which was a big issue because of the people, people, people! And, she almost got run over once by a high-school student going crazy with one of those motorized wheelchair/cart things). It's quite possible that I have never been more grateful for the express checkout lane, for while it was about 10 customers long, at least everyone only had a few items.

As we pushed our cart out into the parking lot, I vaguely heard McKenzie and Carson arguing as I tried to keep everyone with me and away from all the cars while we made our way to the van (which was parked clear in the back of the parking lot because of . . . you guessed it, the crowds).

Carson: "Yes there is."
Kenzie: "No, there's not!"
Carson: "Yes there is."
Kenzie: "CARSON! NO THERE IS NOT!"
Carson: "Yep."
Kenzie: "Mom, are there bananas in the cart?"

This is a common conversation in our house right now. Carson will start riling McKenzie up about something ridiculous and she falls for it every time. We all knew that I hadn't even approached the food side of Target and that I never even came close to the bananas. I've told McKenzie time and time again that she should just ignore him when he says things like that. And, this time, I decided to take Carson's side to try to show her the silliness of it all.

Me: "Yep. There are bananas in the cart."
Kenzie: "Moooooom! No there are not. We never even went close to the bananas!"
Carson: "See! There are bananas here!"
Kenzie: "Are there really, Mom?"
Me: "No, McKenzie. You know there aren't. You saw everything that we bought, and did you see bananas?"
Kenzie: "No."
Me: "Okay, then why are we arguing about it?"
Kenzie: "Cause Carson said there were."
Me: "Do you think he could be playing a trick on you?"
Kenzie under her breath: "See Carson. I told you there weren't bananas in the cart."

We made it to the van, and I buckled Miles into his seat. I started lifting Carson out of the basket and he handed me one of the bags and said, "Here are the bananas, Mom."
"Carson, that's enough," I said.
"Really!" he insisted. He shaped the bag around the item inside, and I had to do a double-take because it did look an awful lot like bananas.
"What?" I said. I grabbed the bag and looked inside. Sure enough, two bananas sat snuggled at the bottom. "Where did this come from!?" I said. It was a rhetorical question, of course.

So, what do you do?

Well, I'll tell you what I did. I threw the bananas in the car with the kids and the other bags and I drove home. It seemed too monumental a task to get Miles back out of the car, take everyone through the dangerous parking lot again, and brave the long lines and crowds again just to return two measly bananas that seemingly jumped into my cart after they were bagged anyway.

I kind of stole two bananas - but I strangely don't feel very guilty about it. Sure, I wish it wouldn't have happened, but I really don't feel compelled to make the 75 minute round-trip to Target to return them today.

Sigh. Am I living a double-standard here?

And, please tell me you've had children who have stolen something - - -