That's Mine!

This morning, as I opened the refrigerator, I saw Mayle’s name in black Sharpie marker scribbled across a container of restaurant green beans.  I seriously doubt that anyone wanted to eat them for breakfast.  Certainly not Stancey—the worst vegetarian EVER; and most certainly not Kenny, because the only vegetables he’ll eat are pickles.

I wonder what was she thinking.  By now she should know if someone wants to eat your stuff, writing your name on it won’t deter them. 

I think outsiders have this misconception that large families are highly skilled in sharing.  In our house, this is not the case.  Aside from colds, stomach viruses and head lice, my kids share very little.   Rather, my kids are delusional.  Each one thinking they are all only children with all the benefits of being the only.

I wonder, have a raised a brood of greedy sponges or have I raised a brood of incompetent mathematicians?

Madison will not share his Coke Zero with anyone.  If he comes home from school and finds an empty soda box, there’s hell to pay. 

Stancey refuses to share her leftover Chinese food, even with me.  Never mind it’s my money she’s used to pay for it. 

And Mayle, as noted before, will not share her leftover shift meals, even though she drinks nearly a gallon of the milk I purchase nearly every day.

In fact, the only kid that is remotely unselfish is Sam.  Maybe’s it’s because he’s been threatened by his older siblings.  Or maybe it’s just that his football and board games hold no appeal to anyone else.  Whatever the reason, he’s at least open to the concept of sharing.

Max, lacking any self-control, wants to share everything . . . everything that doesn’t belong to him, that is.  In particular, he wants to share your toothbrush, your food, essentially your anything. Talk to Kenny, it’s his toys Max wants to share most of all.

Admittedly, I am not above not sharing.  It’s not that I don’t like sharing; it’s just that when my things get used unnaturally, I’d rather just not participate.  I’ve done the magic marker thing myself. It’s not above me to pen, “If you use my shit, put the damn lid back on!” 

The seeds for sharing are sown at home.

As are the seeds for stealing.

At present, there’s a fifty-fifty chance my children will either develop into philanthropists or petty thieves. 

I’ll let you know how that all works out.