I celebrated Thanksgiving 2020 with my family. It was unplanned, as I was scheduled to work that day, however, on the drive down to start my seven on, I found myself an insatiable appetite. It was so bad, I blew through my driving snacks in less than the first hour and had to stop in the first town to hit McDonald's. Hunger tends to be my warning that I am coming down with something. I assume it's my subconscious telling me to stock up on calories while I can before I lose my appetite. I also had a mild headache and a slightly scratchy throat.
Being the conscientious healthcare worker that I am, I immediately got tested upon arrival. And an hour later, I was headed back home with the week off. I got home, filed for time from the extended illness bank, and set out to get in an extra week of work on the house. While the Shieldmaiden was laid out for most of a week, I was upright the entire time, if easily winded.
Among the challenges our family has faced is Sensory Processing Disorder in at least two out of three of our children. Arguably, it's five out of five members, but only two have formal diagnoses. While intense intervention has rendered our oldest mostly in control of herself, our youngest is not nearly as self-regulating. So after a few days of Dad hammering and cutting on things, complicated by the lack of being able to go anywhere, and his own runny nose, the Squirt had had enough. We threw on his weighted vest and earmuffs to no avail.
At that point, the Shieldmaiden suggested that I stick him in our oldest daughter's "stretchy." The stretchy is 15 feet of Lycra hung from the ceiling in a body sock/chair/swing/hammock that's part of her extensive collection of SPD equipment. It's her happy place these days, with a particular emphasis on "her. I was in a hurry to get back to my renovations, so I grabbed my son and stuck him in the stretchy, which calmed him substantially.
But while I had helped the Squirt, it backfired when the Dot came around the corner and found him in it. She was obviously distressed. The Shieldmaiden tried to calm her down, but she was very, very hurt.
Meanwhile, as I worked on my project, it occurred to me what I had done. I had taken her property to provide mental health benefits to her brother. If someone eminent-domain-ed our house to put in a psychiatric clinic, I'd certainly have some negative feelings. Might even say a few choice words.
And I really had no excuse, because in the past, we have often rented her equipment for him with no problems. She's never said no, and usually only charges us 50 cents or so. Rarely more than $1. Instead, I'd violated her property rights because I was in a hurry.
This sort of thing does not fly in our family.
I went to my beloved to ask where our daughter had gone and was informed that she was outside on the swing cooling off. I brought her inside and apologized. After she forgave me, we entered negotiations for restitution. I offered her $1, expecting her to counter with $5. I mean, after all, that's over twice the maximum amount she would have charged us for 30 minutes of stretchy time.
Instead, she thought for a moment and then said, "I guess $1,000 is probably too much, isn't it?" I informed her that her gut was right on that one, and she countered with $10, then proved markedly reticent to decrease. Eventually, we settled for $4 and a trip to McDonald's for ice cream.
Really, though, what's a conscience worth, right? Though next time, the Shieldmaiden handles arbitration.
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