Recently a key part of our door knob fell to pieces. Christine gathered up the pieces and placed them on the counter in case I could repair the knob. But before I got the chance, Lizzy found the pieces and--noticing the air vent holes in the front of the dishwasher--decided to send them on a trip.
So tonight I was kneeling next to the dishwasher with a screwdriver in hand when Lizzy came from her room and asked what I was doing.
"I'm taking apart the dishwasher to get the spring out that you put in there," I said with as much appropriate sternness as I could muster. And then in a burst of inspiration, I added, "And the next time you put something in the dishwasher, you're going to be the one taking apart the dishwasher to get the thing out."
Feeling I had just come up with a clever consequence that would act as an effective deterrent, I went smugly back to spinning my screwdriver and extracting screws. Behind me, a small voice, however, responded to my pronouncement with a surprising declaration: "Cool."
"Cool?" I questioned. "Cool that I'm taking apart the dishwasher?"
"Cool that I could be the one to take it apart next time."
Um, ok. Maybe that wasn't the best consequence. Scratch that. No taking apart of dishwashers by 7-year-olds allowed.
Gotta think through these things better.
