"Not Now, Honey. Mommy Has to Blog."

“Hey Mister, Can You Spare a Quarter?”

14 Dec 2011 2 Comments

by "Not now, honey. Mommy has to Blog." in Little Monkeys (Kids)

If you Google “12-Step Groups for 4 Year-Olds,” you’re plum out of luck. It’s a shame, because I certainly could use one right about now. 

As a mother, I only want the best for my children. Which is why I am seeking treatment or perhaps just a support system for my youngest daughter. Sure, this isn’t easy to talk about. But I’m hoping that if I give voice to her affliction, maybe we will find others out there who are walking in our shoes. Perhaps there is a “silent majority” who is also living under this veil of shame.

You see, my sweet little angel-faced 4 year-old (to protect her privacy, I’ll call her, “M,”) is becoming, well…a serial gambler. I’m not talking about Vegas roulette tables or stealing away into smoke-filled hotel rooms playing poker, bleary-eyed, until dawn.  No, her poison is far more dangerous and destructive. Bear with me, as I try to get this out. Okay. Deep breath.

“M” is battling a rampant addiction to the kid ”trinket” machines at the grocery store.

There I said it. I feel better. Hey, that wasn’t so bad.

Her addiction started innocently enough. My husband was growing frustrated that whenever he wanted to take her out of the house to accompany him on an errand, she would ”dawdle” and drag her feet. He’d be all set to jump in the car, but she would take her own sweet time. She is the kind of kid who when you say, “Okay, we gotta GO!” she’ll begin to move in slow motion. You’ll ask her to put her coat on, and she’ll look at you like you’re speaking in tongues. Suddenly she forgets how to slip on her shoes. It is an endless exercise in waiting.

My husband, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. He will move at lightening speed and want to get cracking on his errands RIGHT NOW. When he is showered and dressed and all fed and watered, he’s ready to go! “Everyone, time to jump in the car!” And though we are entering into our seventh year as parents, he still hasn’t embraced the fact that when you have children who are part of your entourage, sometimes you have to add on a solid hour to that timetable. 

One Saturday morning, in utter frustration as he tried to get ”M” to join him on a grocery store excursion, he blurted out something to the effect of, “If you come with me RIGHT NOW, I’ll let you get a toy from one of those slot machines. I’ll even give you TWO QUARTERS you can use!” Well, I’ll be darned if her little hazel eyes didn’t fly open wide and she high-tailed it to the door. On went her shoes. ZIP went her coat. Before he knew it, that little ponytailed girl had buckled herself expertly in the car, anxiously awaiting her Daddy to join her.

My husband stared blankly in disbelief. He had struck gold!

As he approached the car, a chubby little arm poked out of the window. “Give my my quarters!” she demanded. And he was more than happy to oblige.

The next step in her addictive behavior was fairly textbook. She began to hoard quarters. LOTS of them. Instead of being motivated to earn a sticker for her sticker chart each time she did one of her assigned jobs around the house, she’d say brightly, “I cleaned my room. Can I get a quarter instead?” Fair enough, we thought. After all, our child was now behaving beautifully and did everything we asked. A quarter here. A quarter there. What’s the harm?

Yes, we had become enablers.

Her hoarding soon took the form of stockpiling. She was saving up for her next “fix.” Then the thievery. My coin purse in my pocketbook seemed to lose its characteristic bulge. And finally, the manipulation began. She’d randomly open the door to the refrigerator and exclaim in a worried voice, “Hey Mom, I think we’re getting a little low on milk!” Yes, she had learned to play my emotions like a violin as she knew any mention of dwindling food supply in the house generated great anxiety in me, her Mother. ”We’d better go to the grocery store,” she’d warn.

One day as I gathered my grocery list and grabbed my purse to leave, I noticed she ran to her bedroom right before we left. Intrigued, I followed her to see what she was doing. I observed her, bent down on the floor, fiddling with something under her bed. I crept closer. She grabbed a little plastic bag and I saw it had some quarters in it. I had caught her red-handed with her “stash.” But instead of feeling threatened or agitated that I had confronted her, she turned and looked at me with a huge smile. “NOW, I’m ready to go to the grocery store!” she beamed.

Now ordinarily, when I observe negative behavior in my children, I am perfectly comfortable in attributing it to my husband’s contribution to the gene pool. But I suppose if I’m being honest, I have to own this one. You see, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I fear this may be MY contribution to my daughter’s DNA.

Many moons ago on our honeymoon, my husband and I stayed at a swanky hotel. When he casually mentioned one day that one of the attractions of this hotel was an in-house casino, I simply nodded matter-of-factly. After all, I had never gambled in my life. It simply wasn’t part of my life experience. I had no interest.

One night, about a half-hour before our dinner reservation, we decided to walk through the casino on the way to the restaurant. It was alive with bright lights, and bells and whistles, and people laughing with a twinkle in their eyes as they cranked machine handles and sipped fancy drinks.

My husband brought me a little cup of quarters. I was quite surprised. “I really don’t want to waste money on THIS!” I said, adamantly. “Oh, relax,” he said. “We’re on our honeymoon! Live a little. It’s just a couple of dollars.”

So we walked over and sat down at some slot machines. I took a coin and put it in the machine. I listened as it happily jingled its way down to the bottom. Then I pulled the handle and watched, transfixed, as three little fruit sections spun rapidly. The first slot stopped; then the second; finally, the third. “Well, that’s kinda cool,” I said to myself.

He took a seat in the chair next to me and tried his luck. I put in another quarter. This time I found myself talking to the machine. “STOP!” I commanded. 3 lemons lined up in a row! I HAD WON! I heard the happy jangle of coins twirl downward in the receptacle cup. I felt my face flush with happiness.

I was in love.

About a half-hour went by and my husband looked at his watch and said, “We gotta fly. It’s almost time for dinner.” I didn’t look away from my machine. “Cancel it.” I said, matter-of-factly. He laughed at my obvious joke. “No really, ” I said, “Cancel it.” You see, at that moment, nothing else mattered. I was having a ball! I didn’t need to eat! He looked at me and his expression changed slowly as he realized I wasn’t joking. I looked at my cup and only had one quarter left. “I need more quarters,” I said, turning to him pleadingly. “Give me your quarters.”

Though we were newlyweds and in the stage of our relationship where we still danced carefully around new conflict, my husband bravely whispered in my ear in a tone I hadn’t heard often, “We’re done. Let’s GO.” Like a spell had been broken, I snapped-to. I then realized that I had been swept up in the intoxicating romance of the quarter. It was like a lover. A lover that I had no choice but to leave.

I quit cold-turkey that day. And I’m proud to say that I have not entered a casino since!

So back to “M.” I suppose that being aware of the problem is half the battle. I understand how she feels. I’ve walked in her shoes. I have empathy. And I do know that there is a road to recovery that I will be happy to walk along with her, at her side.

But I still really wish they had a 12-step group for 4 year-olds. I can envision it perfectly. As everyone gathers together, and nervously awaits their turn at self-introduction, she’ll say, “Hi. I’m “M.” Hey, does anyone have a quarter?”