One source of continuing discomfiture for Little Boy is this concept that we have to work and he has to go to school. Some morning are very hard, with him avidly protesting the day’s docket (i.e., him school, us work) while proposing alternative agendas (usually going to the playground, playing with cars, or eating cream cheese).
Way back when I was on half-maternity leave, Mr. P countered Little Boy’s opposition to him leaving the house for work by explaining that Daddy needed to “go get the money.” This was the only justification that seemed to hold any sway with Little Boy. When the French grandparents came for their week-long visit, they reported that Little Boy seemed very concerned about “Daddy money,” as that was all he would talk about, sometimes for more than an hour: “Daddy money?” he would ask them, apparently obsessed with this notion that once Daddy got the money, he would return home.
Now, I know it’s probably not progressive child-rearin’ to constantly reinforce the link between work and money; ideally, we should be teaching him that work is a pleasurable experience that one engages in for self-edification and to make the world a better place, and that school is a place he goes not because Mommy and Daddy work but because education is paramount and learning is fun, but these arguments hold little sway with a 3-year old. He understands money, though. Once we were in a toy store in Provincetown and he spotted a version of the classic Operation game that featured Buzz Lightyear as the patient. Of course he pleaded with us to buy it. Of course we were not buying a game that buzzes annoyingly in accordance with the player’s lack of fine motor skills, so we pointed at the $30 price tag and explained it was too much money. So what did Little Boy do? He mulled around the store and found a penny! He ran to Mr. P, excited, proud, holding the penny up: “Daddy, look! Look! Money!” He pointed to the game, confident it would now be his. “Good work!” we told him. “Now do that 2999 more times!”
Little Boy associates me less with work and money, but I’ll discuss his innate “Leave it to Beaver” sensibilities another day. Actually, this could be because I’m less likely to use “money” as my reason for going to work. “You have to go to school, I have to go to work,” I’ll explain, pushing on his sneakers and pulling on his jacket. “Because we’re upper-middle class slaves, and that is our lot in life.” I try to say this happily.
Yesterday morning Little Boy was particularly upset at the prospect of saying good-bye to Daddy, who had to leave early. “Little Boy, I have to go to work to get the money,” he explained, and Little Boy suddenly ran into the living room and returned with a big handful of coins from our change bowl, offering it to Daddy with the same pride and excitement that he had when he presented the penny in the toy store. We praised him for his resourcefulness — yea, Little Boy found the money, he fixed everything! It was a beautiful moment which, like too many, was followed by crushing disappointment when Daddy went to work, Little Boy went to school, and Mommy went to that purgatory where working Mommies go.
"I'd Rather Be Hauling Wood Chips
Playground Fun
