We took the children bowling this evening. They friggen’ LOVE bowling.
Or rather, the love the bowling alley.

I don’t blame them. The bowling alley is lined from front door to restroom, with vending machines. It’s like a casino, but for children. Candy, soda, fake mustaches – literally anything you could want for $1.00 or less (but mostly $1.00).

Seriously, WTF?

The last time we went to the bowling alley, their father only had $1.00 in coins to share. This time they decided to make their own fortunes. They brought their own money.

I could have said no. I could have told them to save their money for something more important. But I honestly couldn’t think of a single thing more important to them than an opportunity to blow $5 on crap from the Bellagio of bubble gum and Bok Choy Boys that is Spin Alley.

We were supposed to hold off until the end of the evening, and do all of our wish machine shopping as we left but I knew it wasn’t going to go down like that. The vending machine next to the Foosball table held too much candy. Three frames in, the whining started.

Instead of getting irritated, I decided to give the oldest a lesson in “Makin’ your shit happen when it’s not your turn.”

I showed him how to run over and get change right as his turn ended then run back before his second turn. I showed him how to go scout out what he wanted and come back before it was his third turn. Amazingly enough, he figured out the rest on his own so I left him to his own devices and bowled my turn.

This was waiting for me when I was done:

HOLY CRAP DO I LOVE BUTTERFINGERS.

It was the first candy bar he bought and you’re probably thinking “OMG how sweet!” Because that’s exactly what I thought.

…for about thirty seconds. Then he disappeared again and I realized the candy bar wasn’t as much of an “I love you, Mom!” gift as it was an “I love you, Mom!……Please don’t get mad at me for what I’m going to do next.” gift. He then proceeded to stock up on Oreos and 3 Musketeers bars until he ran out of money.

Again, I could have said no. I could have told him he wasn’t allowed to buy $5 worth of candy and cookies.

I didn’t.

Not because I don’t care what my kid eats. I don’t want him eating seventeen thousand Oreos for dinner. But that isn’t what this little shopping spree was about. This was about spending his own money on stuff he wanted to buy. And what he wanted to buy was a shirt-basket full of sugar. 

Technically, he wanted to stuff all this in his pockets so I wouldn’t see it, but his pockets were too small.

While he was stocking up, I offered to teach the youngest how to scout out the vending machines like her brother. She took one look at his haul and refused to buy any candy at all. Her argument being that her brother would never be able to eat all those cookies in front of her without sharing. I told her not to count on his kindness but she just laughed and spent all her money on Squirrel Cuffs and a spy telescope.

And you know what? She was right. He was so pleased with his scandalous shopping spree that he had to share. It was simply too freakin’ awesome for him to experience on his own.