TIVOLI JENSEN

Last night, as the Littles and I were in the midst of playing with every stuffed animal and car we own and making dinner (you can figure who was doing what), I asked August and Eliott to put away their toys before Daddy got home.  Not because of any worry for him breaking his neck upon entry, no, I just like the illusion we’re a trio that has their “mess” together.

August, in a competitive-even-when-there’s-no-competition flurry, immediately raced to put all of the Beanie Babies and teddy bears away, while Eliott, in an utmost show of leisure, stretched out, yawned, and laid back on the floor.

August marauded for another armful of toys; Eliott ventured to try a new position by sprawling his appendages out further toward the walls.  August grabbed the last unicorn; Eliott discovered his toes are almost like fingers.  August made one last trip to the room; Eliott scratched his nose.

Now, from my vantage point in the kitchen doorway, he and I could see each other, but Flurry August (who was running back and forth from her room to the living room) could not.

“Eliott, put your cars away, please,” I said in the tone I’ve read parenting books to get, “Daddy is on his way.”

Eliott looked up at me, a grin threatening his lips.  “Oh, I will, Mama.”  Another yawn commenced.  The child put his arms up to the sky and then put his hands behind his head and crossed his feet.

I was mid-head tilt when August bustled back into the room.

“I’m doneeeee!” she scream-sang. traipsing through the piles of cars still gracing my floor.

At this, the boy wonder sat up.  I abandoned dinner to watch this play out (still sorry about those brussels sprouts– they were blackened, though, honey, not burned).

Eliott, suddenly spry and awake, began tossing his cars into their bin and going, “YES!”, “NICE!”, and “WIN!”

My heart thrummed faster, as if punching the words running over and over in my mind: I know this story.

Eliott looked in August’s direction.  Mater landed with a nice crunch with the rest of his comrades.

August stepped forward.

Then, Finn McMissile barely made it in the bin, clipping the side and almost falling out.

August, the Competitive, took the bait.

She asked, “What are you doing?”

“Winning.”

She danced a bit on tiptoe.  The boy had only put five cars away.

“Can–”

Lightning McQueen sailed a wide arc into the bin.  Eliott cheered and smiled up at her, though not his normal, good-natured smile– this was his little Mephistophelean smirk.

“CanIWin?” August breathed out, her eyes wide.

“I don’t know.”  Eliott leaned back on his elbows and pointed with one of his long feet.  “Can you?”

Of course, by this time, my jaw was near hitting my knees as I watched my son con my daughter into cleaning up his toys.

And what did my parenting prowess do?

I let her clean it up.  I see a job well swindled.  I see the machinations of character building.

I see the genius of a little con artist basking in his own cleverness.

But then, so did August.

After she cleaned up all of the stuffed animals and all of the cars, August surveyed the now barren living room with triumph.  But then, she noted Tom Sawyer, still lounging on the floor.

August did a double-take of her single-handed work, her blonde hair swishing at her shoulders as her head turned to each corner, each chair, each place where there had been a toy.

Her eyes widened.  “You tricked me.”

Eliott closed his eyes.  “You won.”

I could see a small fire start just where Eliott’s feet were, kindled purely by the blaze in August’s eyes.

August squared her shoulders and walked over to me (still dumbfounded in the kitchen, mind you) and said: “Do I need a brother?”

“For all intents and purposes,” I answered, “yes.”

She heaved a great sigh, of the kind only a three-year-old of mass intelligence but also mass trust in other humans can produce.

“Hey, August?” I whispered.

Her shoulders were slumped.  “Yes, Mama?”

“Thank you cleaning up all of those toys.  You are such a great helper.  Would you like a cookie?”

The fire of annoyance gave over quickly to a glow of delight, almost matching the one of her brother, who was still laying in the same spot.