the cost of squabbling
From my journal, two summers ago:
“Did you have fun with Mandy today?” I asked Tera at bedtime.
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“No? Why not?”
She rubbed the edge of her favorite pink blanket as she recounted the day’s events. “First, she didn’t want to have a popsicle. She wanted a cookie. But you said we could have a popsicle and you never said we could have cookies, so I told her ‘Too bad – you have to have a popsicle.’”
I hid my smile.
“Then, I wanted to play Barbies, but she wanted to jump on the trampoline. So we had a big fight about that, and then I remembered that you always say I should let my guest choose, so I went and jumped on the trampoline – which I didn’t want to do but I did ‘cause I was s’posed to,” she emphasized.
“After that we got in the pool and I got mad ‘cause she wouldn’t stop splashing me and she got mad back and said I was a baby. Then we fought about who got the blue towel. I didn’t want the orange one ‘cause it’s not soft.”
She thought for another minute. “Oh, and we fought about who got to hold the kitten first, what movie to watch, and who got to use the Scooby Doo cup.”
She sighed and rubbed her eyes.
“All that fighting was a lot of hard work,” she said. “I think tomorrow we’ll just try to get along.”
Good plan, girl.
“Let us agree to use all our energy in getting along with each other.” --Romans 14:19a (Msg)