I bribe my children. It is one of my most reliable mom tricks. I don’t bribe them in a public-official-taking-an-envelope-filled-with-hundred-dollar-bills type of way. No, it’s more of an “I’ll give you an M&M if you tinkle on the potty” approach. I hate to say it, but it works. You can raise your eyebrows if you like, but if a promise of a cookie from the bakery at the end of a grocery shopping trip helps stave off tantrums in the isles, I say use it. And until recently that was exactly what I did.
My daughter is in 3rd grade now. This school year has been a big adjustment: more homework, standardized testing and the dreaded multiplication tables. The new math demands were literally keeping my baby girl up at night. This was going to take some serious bribing. Yet I seemed to have reached a standstill. The promise of a girls’ day out to get our nails done was not working. A new video game … nothing. Even the good old reliable M&M for every fact she got right didn’t cut it.
Then one day she brought home a geography test with a huge “A” and happy face in red ink penned across it. I was so happy that I started doing what the children have named “The Proud Mama Dance.” It is a cross between the Funky Chicken and the Moonwalk. It is not a pretty sight but it makes the kids laugh and it is something they look forward to seeing. (In the privacy of our own house with the curtains drawn and none of their friends within 50 miles of view of course.)
Suddenly, it hit me! Without thinking, I blurted out, “If you think this is great, you should see the cartwheels I’ll do when you learn to multiply.” My daughter’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. She raced off to her room and pulled out her flashcards.
I had discovered a new bribery tactic and I was feeling pretty smug about it. After all, this wouldn’t cost me a thing. OK, perhaps my pride and dignity, but hey after lying on a table with my feet in stirrups and all my goods out there for everyone and their brother to see while giving birth, twice, how much dignity did I really have left anyway.
A week later my girl came to me and asked me to quiz her: 5×5=25, 6×8=48, 9×7=63 she even knew her 12s. I was beyond thrilled. I scooped her up in my arms and spun her around. Then I placed her back on the ground and proceeded to do the Proud Mama Dance. I even added a few smooth break dancing moves just to show her how proud I really was. Out of breath and exhausted I stopped and looked down at my daughter whose face was full of anticipation.
“OK you can do the cartwheels now!” she said all business-like and then called out to her brother to make sure he brought a camera so they could capture the moment for future generations to see.
Before I go on I need to point something out. I am not out of shape, but I certainly am not in it either. Just the idea of bending down to get my head between my legs makes me sweat. There was certainly no way that I was going to get this 40-something-year-old body to do a cartwheel without having to call the paramedics. But a somersault, certainly I could manage that one. Right?
My daughter piled the couch cushions on the floor. My son grabbed the phone just in case he needed to call 911. They both gave me a drum roll and I tucked and tumbled … sort of. As I lay there on the floor trying to figure out how I was going to get up, I realized two things. One: I need a new bag of tricks and two: I have to add my chiropractor’s number to speed dial.
Sharon Fuentes is a freelance writer and the proud mom of two who is now smart enough to refrain from somersaults at any cost
