86 yourfamily.co.zaTHE WISDOM OF SOLOMON WOULDN’T BE UP
TO THE TASK OF DECIDING THE BIG QUESTIONS
IN PARENTING, LIKE WHO GOES FIRST AND
WHOSE TURN IT IS, WRITES KATE SIDLEY
MOM’S THE WORD
IMAGE: STOCK.ADOBE.COMw
hen I was a child, my
mother wore a wedding
ring on the fourth finger
of her left hand and a
slim gold bangle on her right wrist.
When we walked along the high
street and had to hold her hands,
my sister and I would fight about
who had the ring hand and who
had the bangle hand (as I recall,
neither was intrinsically preferred;
it was simply about wanting to get
what the other one wanted).
Grown-up me thinks: poor Mom,
trying to walk down the high street
with two little girls swinging on her
arms and reaching across her to
push, shove and exchange slaps.
Four-year-old me had no such
concerns. Anyhow, ring hand and
bangle hand became moot when
my brother was born five years
after me and both Mom’s hands
were pushing a pram.
I thought of this the other day
when I saw a video of comedian
Michael McIntyre (check him out
on YouTube – he’s brilliant on
the subjects of kids, families and
parenting). He was doing a routine
about the things his two sons fight
over, including who pushes the
button in the lift: ‘It’s my turn!’; ‘He
always does it!’; ‘It’s not fair!’; ‘But
he did it last time!’; ‘I got there first!’
McIntyre points out that
pushing the lift button isn’t one of
the great perks of life. There are
more exciting things in the world.
It isn’t particularly interesting or
fun, in and of itself. In fact, if a kind
stranger were to ask: ‘Which floor?’
and push the button for him, he’d
thank them. This is true of many of
the things kids fight over.
My friend’s children, sharing a
bathtub, fight over who gets the
tap end – which means havingthe boundless power of access to
the taps, thereby controlling the
temperature – and who gets the far
end. The far end is arguably more
comfortable, because you can
lean against the bath, but is known
as the North Pole because the
incoming hot water doesn’t reach
there. You can imagine the drama.
The big contest, where there
really is a winner and a loser, is in
the car. It’s way, way nicer to be
in the front with Mom or Dad. The
view’s better. The conversation’s
better. You can fiddle in Mom’s bag
looking for peppermints. If you’re
old enough to care about such
things, you can control the radio or
the aux cable. It’s totally the boss
seat. And, let’s not forget, you have
the satisfaction of knowing that
your sibling, your rival in all things,
is sitting in the worst seat. Ha!
Could life get any better?
Obviously, no grown-up
remembers or cares who pushed
the lift button last time, or who
sat in which seat. We’re too busy
trying to remember our login
passwords and the name of our
child’s history teacher.
One very clever friend has
attempted to solve sibling battles
by letting one child choose for
the whole day. On that day, The
Chooser gets to sit in the front of
the car, be in control of the remote,
push the button in the lift, decide
whether it’s peas or carrots for
supper and sit in the tap end of the
bathtub – in short, the full range of
powers and privileges that can be
afforded an eight-year-old. Next
day, though, it’s back seat for her
as her brother gets his turn to be
The Chooser.
My friend says it works.
Sometimes.turn!
it’s my