“She won’t stop.” Clare complained.
“Neither do you,” I started to say. I was going to give a wonderful lecture on sisterly love when I was interrupted by a cacophony of loud noises from the back of the van. I kind of shrunk physically into the seat while my mental shrinking was downright embarrassing. I didn’t confront them, tell them to stop, or tell them the consequences of their behavior. Instead of saying anything to either girl, I gave a sigh, and stared straight out the window.
As swollen with love as my heart had been the first few days of the trip, it was now so constricted that it rattled around in my chest. With each cutting comment and each scream issuing forth from my daughters, my heart shriveled until it actually ached.
My thoughts took me to the upcoming evening journey to the laundromat. The more I thought about it, the more I looked forward to it. I’d bring a book and all I would hear was whirring machinery. It sounded peaceful and wonderful; I felt lucky that I got to do the laundry.
Anne and Clare wrangled for the half hour ride. Was it worth going anywhere? We were prisoners in the van while bickering sisters argued about everything including the weather.
We parked by the arch of antlers in Jackson Hole, and stumbled out of the van. Grandma and I put Anne, Clare, and Erin on a stagecoach for a ride around the town. Then we both collapsed on a bench. Neither of us said a word. Paul wandered away from us, arms clasped behind his back.
I couldn’t figure out who Paul was talking to but it would change our lives forever. He leaned forward, intent on every word an elderly gentleman was saying. As the man spoke, Paul nodded his head in agreement.
I became more and more intrigued by what my husband was doing. He stood and shook the older man’s hand vigorously.
Paul smiled as he came towards us. “I’ve got the answer,” he said.
“To what?”
“To our problem in the car.”
I was now very interested in what he was saying. I bent forward so I wouldn’t miss a word.
“The guy I was talking to travels all over with his grandchildren. They’ve even gone as far as Alaska. He said fighting is never a problem.”
“Never? I don’t believe it.”
“Listen. He said that at the beginning of each day he gives each one of them a roll of nickels. Every time they fight they get a nickel taken away.”
“It really works?” I’d been an optimist all my life, but this was hard to believe.
“He said it does. But there’s a trick. At the end of the day the kids can spend it any way they want. You can’t say anything.”
“It’s worth trying,” I said. “What do you think, Mom?”
“Sounds interesting,” Grandma said.
The night before, Paul and I had agreed on one thing. We were never going to travel with our children again. I counted off 16 years of blissful summers while our neighbors hobbled home from their family vacations. By the time our girls were away at college, Paul and I could drive anywhere we wanted to, even to Alaska.
The only thing wrong with that image was that I liked to go places. I wanted to travel. I wanted the girls to experience the grandeur of mountains, the breadth of the country sky, the bracing smell in the air, the stars so plentiful that they illuminated the night. I wanted them to experience the peace that only nature can give. The city life couldn’t compare when it came to quiet and serenity.
I had made up my mind. We would give the nickels a try as we headed towards Colorado. Some people might define this approach as akin to bribery. As I weighed the pros and cons, I remembered that we had been giving them small amounts of money in the evening for treats anyway. With this approach we would let them decide how much they had to spend each day. One thing was certain, so far the limp-wristed threats and rewards hadn’t accomplished anything.
“Let’s try it,” I said.
The girls got off the stagecoach. We walked around in the town for a while but my mind was on one thing only—The Van Ride with our two older daughters.
As we got into the van, I felt almost carefree. Whatever they said to each other didn’t matter because we had the countermove. Paul was smiling. We were ready for them.
“We’re starting new rules for riding in the van,” Paul began. “I’m going to explain them to you. We’ll give you a roll of nickels at the beginning of each day.”
“Ooh,” Anne and Clare made the noise in tandem.
Paul had gotten their attention.
“Every time you poke, scream, yell, call names, or fight with each other we take away a nickel.”
Anne and Clare made eye contact.
“She starts it,” Clare said, pointing at Anne.
“I do not,” Anne said.
“It doesn’t matter who starts it. You don’t have to react,”I said.
“Let’s get back to the rules so we all understand them,” Paul said. “At the end of the day you can spend the money any way you want.”
“Can I spend it on candy?” Erin piped up. She had a sweet tooth that could rival Winnie the Pooh’s. I could well imagine our dental bills while her teeth rotted away.
“We won’t say anything,” Paul said.
Erin would probably have the entire two dollars to spend every evening. I kept my lips pressed together so I wouldn’t comment on her soon-to-be decaying teeth. I had always been careful about how much candy the girls ate. In this case, I had to look at the whole picture. The mental health of the three adults took precedence over the dentist’s bulging wallet, Mercedes, lake cabin, trip around the world . . .
“How about video games?” Anne asked.
“That’s okay.”
“Can I save it if I want?”
“Of course.”
“Do I still get two dollars everyday even if I save some?” Anne asked. She wanted to understand the fine points before she committed herself.
“Every day is a brand new day,” Paul said.
Clare had been quiet during the discussion.
“What do you think, Clare?” I asked.
“Anne always starts it.”
“Don’t react to her.”
“I have to.”
“Then you won’t have many nickels left,” I said.
“It’s different when you don’t start it,” Clare persisted.
“So if Anne looks at you, she should get a nickel taken away, but if you scream and hit, you keep the nickel?”
“If she starts it.”
“That’s not the way it works, Clare,” Paul said.
Five
Skittles, Anyone?
To every set of actions are a set of consequences.
We had a rare silence on the way back to the cabin. The girls were mulling over what they valued most; tormenting each other or jingling nickels in their pockets as they decided what to spend them on. The stillness was fragile to say the least, so I didn’t do my usual small talking.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Anne was playing cards with Grandma. Clare was looking down at the floor. Erin had her blanket near her but she wasn’t clasping it with jaws clenched. Paul was looking out the window.
We had an early dinner and then went back to the cabin.
There wasn’t a lot of interest in Scrabble that night. Anne and Grandma had beaten me the night before and they were still gloating about it. They called themselves “the champions,” and gave the high-five to each other. I reminded them that it had been 24 hours since their upset and there were two of them. Of course, I didn’t say one of them was a six-year-old.
Grandma described herself as “Just as happy if the other person wins” whenever a game was talked about. I heard her thanking Anne and saying, “I have lived for this; to beat your mother in Scrabble.” The high-five again. I didn’t know it was physically possible for mouths to smile so widely. I had always prided myself on being a gracious winner, saying, “I had all the good tiles,” or “You opened up the board for me.” There was no dealing with people who were poor winners, so
I just laughed and let them have their moment.
I picked up the book I was reading and went outside. It was so pleasant. Soon Paul was out there too. Every so often Grandma or Anne or both of their grinning faces peeked out the door. They pointed at me and then looked at each other. “We beat her, Anne,” Grandma would say. The high-five again.
When you travel with someone for two weeks straight, their true nature comes out.
Everyone was asleep by nine o’clock. We hoped to leave the Tetons by nine the next morning.
In the morning, we stopped for breakfast as soon as we found a restaurant.
After eating, we settled into our spots in the van. Paul was in the driver’s seat. In his hand were three rolls of nickels.
“I’m going to give each of you a roll of nickels,” Paul said. He turned around and extended his arm toward the back. The girls each took a roll from his hand.
Paul had told me that the grandfather said the first few times you use the nickels the kids have to see them disappearing. After they get the idea, it doesn’t matter if they actually have the roll of nickels in their hands.
“Good,” Anne and Clare said. Their hands clasped the rolls. Erin didn’t say anything. She put the roll under her blanket on her lap.
“Okay, let’s go over this again,” Paul said. “You have two dollars right now. You’ll have the same two dollars at the end of the day if you want to.”
“I want to,” Erin said.
“Good. Here are the rules. Anytime you fight physically or verbally with someone else, we take away a nickel.”
“I won’t fight,” Erin said.
“What’s verbally?” Clare asked.
“What you say.”
“You mean we can’t even talk?”
“I didn’t say that. I said if you talk in a mean way you’re going to lose a nickel.”
“Even if I don’t start it?” Clare asked.
I hoped in the future Clare could find a job where repetition and stubbornness were part of the job description.
“Even if you don’t start it,” I said. “It’s up to you.”
We didn’t have to wait long for the nickels to start disappearing.
The discord started innocently enough with Anne teasing Clare about her shorts. I hadn’t even remembered that they used to be Anne’s.
“She’s making fun of me.”
“No, I’m not, you just think I am,” Anne said.
Grandma was holding on to Erin. I looked at Paul and whispered, “This isn’t going to work.”
“The next comment by either one of you loses a nickel,” Paul said.
But they were off and running.
“You did too make fun of me,” Clare stated.
“I did not,” Anne said. “You’re so weird, Clare.”
“Anne, give me a nickel,” I said. It was shaping into another long day. She handed over the nickel without protest.
“She always makes fun of me,” Clare stated. “She’s a jerk.”
“Clare, hand me a nickel,” I said. Grandma was biting her lip as she snuggled with Erin.
“No, I won’t. Because it’s true.”
“Now you lose two of them. Hand them over.”
“I didn’t dooo anything,” Clare stated, with all the emphasis on the do word.
“Do you want it to be three?” I asked. I was getting exhausted already. This was not going to be so easy with our middle daughter. “Clare, if I have to crawl back there . . . ,” I said leaving the rest of the sentence to her imagination. “Two nickels. Now.”
Clare slowly opened the roll of nickels and handed me one nickel.
“I said two.”
“It’s not fair,” she said as she gave me the second nickel.
“Life isn’t,” I said. “All I know is I’m going to be rich at the end of the day.” Rich and twitching, I thought.
To say that was the end of the fighting would not be the truth. But by noon, I was seeing a light at the end of tunnel, at least with Anne. She didn’t like surrendering her nickels.
We arrived at our hotel in Rawlings, Wyoming at five in the afternoon. Erin looked into the display of candy in the office with a little grin on her face. Her roll of nickels was still intact. She took some time deciding what she wanted. The man asked for a dollar.
“I have a whole dollar left,” she chirped while holding her bag of candy.
“You can save it if you want,”I said.
Anne had a dollar and 60 cents left of the original two dollars and Clare had 25 cents.
We carried our luggage to our two rooms and started to unwind. Erin ate her candy with her blanket around her shoulders. Every so often she looked in the bag to see how much was there. Anne had gone downstairs with Paul to check out the video games. I looked around for Clare and had no trouble figuring out what she was doing. She sat on one of the beds talking to Grandma. She had Grandma’s full attention.
Clare could make her bright blue eyes as sad as a Basset Hound’s. She summoned up all her abilities for the benefit of Grandma. Her eyes had never looked quite so sorrowful as they did at that moment.
About a half hour later, Grandma took me aside for a private talk. “I probably shouldn’t say anything but I have a suggestion,” she began.
“I’m listening.”
“Why don’t you give up the nickel idea?”
“Has Clare been working on you?”
“No, I wouldn’t say she’s been working on me. But the poor thing only has a quarter.”
Somehow, I didn’t think of Clare as a “poor thing.” There were times when I thought she belonged in Hollywood not St. Paul, Minnesota.
“So you don’t think she did anything to deserve losing her nickels?”I asked.
“Some of the time.”
I waited for the rest of it.
Grandma looked at me thoughtfully and said, “She’s only four years old. I just don’t like the whole thing. Some of her behavior hasn’t been the best but much of it is normal four-year-old behavior.”
“What should we do, then?”
“Ignore it. That’s what I used to do.”
“We tried ignoring it. We were all ready to scream.” Not to mention that the various twitches on my face had each assumed their own rhythm. Thankfully, I wasn’t a nervous person by nature or it could have been worse, much worse.
“It was pretty bad at times,” Grandma agreed. She hesitated for a long couple of seconds. “I do have one more question,” she said. “If you don’t like it, just tell me.”
“Okay.”
“Can I give Clare another quarter? It wouldn’t be from you or Paul and I’ll make sure she knows that.”
“Please don’t. Clare may be only four years old, but she knows exactly what she’s doing.”
“Okay. I’ll go along with whatever you and Paul say.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Clare and Grandma conferred on the bed. Clare looked deep into Grandma’s navy blue eyes. I’m sure she was picturing herself holding a big bag of candy while playing video games. Her hopes were dashed as she learned there would be no adding to her five nickels.
“Mom, would you take me downstairs to get some candy?” Clare asked quietly.
“Sure,” I said.
When we came back to the room, Clare sat on the bed, opened her small bag of Skittles, and began to eat one Skittle at a time.
I knew if my eyes met Grandma’s, she would be mouthing “poor thing” at me. So, with the sound of slow chewing in my ears, I looked out the window at the view of the parking lot.
Six
Nickels From Heaven
A small price to pay for peace
The next morning I was as energetic as I had been when we left St. Paul. “Rise and shine,” I said to Clare who was still sleeping. It was eight o’clock.
I had already showered, fixed my hair, put on my makeup, and had coffee with Grandma and Paul. Sometimes it bothered others but on vacation I could only be described as deliri
ously happy. I couldn’t help it. The day awaited us.
As a last resort at home when the girls wouldn’t get moving, I sang a repertoire of good morning songs to them. I usually started out with “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” from Oklahoma. If that didn’t work, I moved on to “Good Morning, Good Morning, I’m So Glad to See You” from Sesame Street. If I had to sing more than one song, my alto voice became more like an opera diva. It never failed to roust them out of bed.
“Oh, what a beautiful . . . ” I sang in falsetto.
The covers were pulled back and Clare was up. It was hard to sing on an empty stomach so we were both spared further problems with ears and vocal cords.
We were driving by eight-thirty in the morning. The first thing we did, as always, was find a restaurant for breakfast. We found that it didn’t make any sense to try for a late breakfast. The girls got squirmy and asked, “Are we stopping now?” every five minutes or so. Or one of them kept repeating, “I’m hungry.” It took on a life of its own. I heard the words even when they weren’t saying them.
By ten o’clock, we were pointed toward Colorado. The spiraling roads through the Rocky Mountains were difficult driving. Luckily, we didn’t hear the high-pitched screeches of earlier days. We could concentrate on keeping the van in the middle of the slender lanes without facial muscles spasming. We curved around a precipitous bend when I noticed three plain white crosses next to the edge.
“I wonder what those crosses are for?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you,” Paul said.
“Why? Tell me.”
“It’s places that people have gone over the edge.”
“In their car?”
“Car and all.”
“Do the crosses mean they died?”
Paul nodded his head.
I was glad he was driving at that moment. My heart kind of slackened in my chest thinking of those poor people. Twelve thousand feet was a long way from the ground.
Warning!: Family Vacations May Be Hazardous to Your Health Page 4