Momnesia

How to Teach Your Child Manners (and Lose)

Augusta, Ga. - I try to teach Emmie manners, but I also try to teach her to think for herself. Those two goals battled one Friday night.

About three weeks ago, the Knology installer was here, the laundry was backed up, it was Friday night, and everything was so crazy that week that we just ordered a pizza while I tried to keep Emmie from campaigning for the cable employee's vote in the next preschool election.

"I lite your hat," she said. "Do you wanna play dolly dolls?"
"Okay, Emmie. Let's let this gentleman do his work. It's late, and he'd like to go home to his family, too."

Just then, the doorbell rang. It was Pizza Hut, thank god. I needed her to sit still for about half an hour so that I could get my brain to stop spinning.

"Mama!" Emmie shrieked with delight when I opened the door. "It's Da Pizza Man! Hi, Pizza Man!"
"Hellooo!" he called back, with a cheerful smile and a wave.

"Emmie, he has a name. Don't call him the pizza man," I chided, gently. I don't want her to be one of those folks who see people working in service roles - delivery people, servers, mechanics, etc. - and thinks less of them. That's hard work they're doing.

She narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. Uh-oh. I had done the unthinkable: I had stood in the way of her efforts to gather another future constituent.

"Mama?" she said, with disarming sweetness and a conniving lilt. "Did he bring da pizza?"

"Yes, of course," I said, scribbling a tip on the credit card receipt and fumbling the boxes from the delivery.

"Wull, den, he's Da Pizza Man," she grinned, triumphantly.

Da Pizza Man just about laughed himself off the porch.