One evening, when Riley was about 3, I realized I had forgotten to buy shrimp for dinner and needed to make a quick run to the store. Riley wanted to come, too.
“Ok, but we’re just going to get one thing and come home.”
“That’s okay, Mommy. It’s Mommy-Riley special time!”
Hmmm. Maybe I hadn’t been giving her enough attention if her idea of “special time” was a 10-minute trip to Smith’s.
We walked in the store and Riley headed right for the flower department. We talked about how pretty the flowers were (Her: “Can we buy some?” Me: “Not today, we just need to get some of the shrimp that’s on sale and head home.”) and I tried to move her along. Her attention shifted from cut flowers to small stuffed animals (Her: “Can I have one?” Me: “You have a thousand stuffed animals at home. We need to get the shrimp.”) and then again to the mini-Mylar balloons on sticks (Her: “Look at those beautiful balloons, Mommy!” Me: “Those are really fun and shiny. Can you help me find the seafood counter?”).
While waiting for shrimp, she put in requests for Lunchables, Elmo oatmeal, Big Bird granola bars, and probably her first car. At some point I just stopped listening. After we paid, she asked to go look at the balloons one more time. What was the harm? After all, this was our “special time.” When she realized that I really did mean just look at the balloons, she launched into world-ending sobs. We made a quick exit and I tried to empathize, but also unspool a memorable life lesson.
“Riley, I feel bad that you’re so sad. It’s hard when you really want things.”
“I just [sob] wanted [sob] one of those stick balloons. They’re so beautiful.”
“They are pretty. But it’s also important to see the difference between want and need. Even for grown-ups. There are lots of things we want — toys, clothes, a few minutes of peace and quiet in the morning — but not a lot of things we need. Except the peace and quiet. That’s a real need. Do you know what other kinds of things we need?”
Sensing that “stick balloons” were not going to make the list, she said nothing.
“We need things like enough clothes to stay warm, a place to sleep, and food to eat. But we want lots of other things. I have to think, when I want something, if it’s something I want or need. And if it’s something I just want, most of the time I have to decide not to get it.”
“All I want is [sob] a stick balloon.”
“Well, we didn’t get one because you have so many toys and things to play with. You don’t need another toy.”
“I don’t like any of my toys.”
Nice try, kiddo.
“Ok, if that’s really true, I’ll make you a deal. Tonight, after dinner, you can put all your toys in a box and we’ll give them away. Then I’ll get you a stick balloon and you can play with that.”
“Ok, Mommy.”
Pause.
“I don’t really want to give away all my toys. Just some of them.”
We’d been down that road before. Last time we tried to donate unused toys, every single thing in the playroom was deemed “really special to me.” She finally decided she could part with an unidentifiable piece of something that had come with a Happy Meal.
“Well, the deal for the balloon is that you give away all of them. Or you can save your money and buy yourself a balloon.”
Needless to say, the balloon — and the charitable giving — were forgotten by the next day, doubtless soon replaced by the next bright and shiny thing to catch her eye.
I couldn’t fault her for the grocery store meltdown, humbling as it was to pack out a sobbing preschooler while the community looked on. It was simply the immature, unconcealed version of the inner thoughts I so often have. I’m not particularly drawn to Mylar, but a cute jacket? A nicer couch? New running shoes? Our little chat about wants versus needs was also good for my own bottomless pit of desires.
Parenting changes us. I’ll be the first to admit it doesn’t always bring out my best self. (Ask my kids about the time “mom got so mad she kicked the laundry basket down the hall.”) But sometimes the good lessons I share with my kids make me better, too.
Katie Cantrell is a Kalispell-based writer and mom of three.