MAGPIE

The other day in a public setting my children were acting like hoodlums.  I noticed someone watching them perform their little circus tricks and as I ushered them away I said to this innocent bystander....

"Yes, they WERE raised in a barn."

I thought maybe that was a low point for me on the humiliation scale.  Okay, that's not even remotely true.  As I sit here I realize that compared to other moments in my life, that one barely pricked.  And I certainly wasn't blushing.  If I was, then the blush wasn't from embarrassment, but from frustration.

I talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk.

And I'm pretty sure that to my children I sound like the adults on the Charlie Brown shows.

"Wah wah wah wah wah wah......"

Me: Please don't try to steal a ride on other people's carts.
"Wah wah wah wah"....
WWWEEEEEEE!

Me:  Please don't ram your pretend spaceship into the back of the person ahead of us in line.
"Wah wah wah wah wah wah"....
BLAST OFF!

Now I know for a fact that I've talked to them about stealing and how it's bad. 

But I've recently realized that I'm raising a magpie.  A collector of sparkly things which are then hoarded in the nest (bedroom secret shelf area), and jealously guarded. 

Ms. Els is going to be the death of all glitter in my life.

The first sign of this was when I began to notice her constantly asking to go to Dollar Tree.  "I have a dollar.  Can we go to Dollar Tree?"  Like four times a week.  In her defense this is because it takes about 4 askings to get me to do anything.  So really, we're only going once a week.  But still... odd.

Where the devil is she getting this cash flow?  Is she running an underground Barbie boxing ring?  Is she dealing in Polly Pocket espionage? 

Then I noticed that the place I always go to steal all coins that are silver is suddenly void of silver and has become a nice little community of copper.  Pennies.  All huddled up together against anything different from them.  Not a silver to be found.  Fishy, fishy.

My next step was stumbling across Ms. Magpie's stash.  Oh, ho, ho, goldmine.  Or, silver mine.  Either way. I was dusting the shelves in the girl's room and noticed an odd little container on Els's shelf.  When I tried to move it, it had an unexpected girth.  I looked in and found probably $20 worth of nickles, dimes and quarters.  Holy Toledo people.  The Mother Load. 

So, I did what anyone in my position would do.  I took out a dollar to buy myself a Diet Coke at McDonalds and put the rest back.  I'll let her continue to gather silver to her like a selfish little hen and I'll take out my "tax" for not telling Hubs where his coins are disappearing to.  It makes me feel like a mobster.  I kinda like it.

But then I noticed other things going the way of the coins that are worth anything.  One of my favorite earrings.  All the fingernail clippers in the house.  Earphones.  Sharpie markers.  The worst part is that I'll be looking for them frantically, with no luck.  Then like ten minutes later Ms. Els Magpie comes meandering up from her bedroom innocently clipping her fingernails while listening to her iPod knockoff, carrying a drawing she made with Sharpie markers with a random earring dangling from her pig tail holder. 

BUSTED!

I had to have an intervention with her and remind her that stealing is bad.

Els: I'm not stealing.

Me: Um, you're taking things that belong to others and hoarding them away in your room.

Els: I don't even know what hoarding is.

Me: Well, now you do 'cause you're doing it.

E: Doing what?

M: Hoarding.

E: What am I hoarding?

M: Things that belong to other people.

E: I thought that was called stealing!

M: It is.  That's what I'm trying to tell you.

E: Whatever.

M:  Don't "whatever" me.  You can't keep stealing stuff and putting it in your room.

E: I'm not stealing or hoarding or whatever.  It's not like anyone else uses this stuff.

M: Honestly!  Your ears aren't even pierced!

So, we cleaned out the stash and put it all back where it belonged.  She can use it, but she can't claim it.

Then a few days later I was sitting in the Lazy Boy chair and she came into the room and gave me this totally sassy look.  Then she told me to get out of her chair.

I hope you're as shocked and incensed as I!!!!

My response to that wasn't really publishable.  But, suffice it to say, she now understand that a Lazy Boy won't fit on her little shelf of silver sparkles. 

And that wings can be clipped....