the art of negotiation

i'm often asked if my kids always get along so well.  "for the most part," i tend to reply.  "there's really only one thing they tend to squabble over -- the back seat."

but it's not your age-old back seat issue -- you know, the one we all had growing up in our family station wagons, where our exasperated parents would draw an imaginary line down the cloth interior and threaten lima beans for dinner if either of the two seat sharers dared go past it.  no, our back seat issue has evolved with new car technology (shoot, we don't even have an imaginary line to draw, as the back seat is actually two captain's chairs.)  our back seat issue actually has to do with the air conditioning.

one of the perks that our SUV boasts -- or so we thought -- was the separate climate controls.  there is a control for the driver, another for the front passenger ... and then one control for all five rear seats.  so whoever happens to be riding in the back has to pretty much agree on how much (or little) heat or air is blowing their way.

and that's where the issue lies: they cannot ever agree.  liam is always hot (like his daddy), and especially so when he's clambering into the car after one of his gazillion sports practices, sweaty hair plastered to his flushed face.  he wants nothing more than to crank that a/c up full blast.  susanna, on the other hand, is always cold (like her momma), and has no interest in being blown away by frigid air.

after way too many arguments discussions over this issue, i finally decreed a new car policy: all rear passengers must simply meet in the middle.  while the front controls have a numeric thermostat (i like mine at about 78 in the summer; chris prefers his at about 60), the rear control simply has 0, 1, 2, 3, and 4.  i told them that they each have to decide which level is their preference, and then average the two.  when this plan was first put in place, it led to (as i hoped it would, being a math teacher) a conversation about what to do when the average is a decimal.  (solution: alternate between the two levels on either side of the decimal in five minute intervals.)

but very quickly, savvy susanna wised up.  much like goldilocks, her preferred level is always 2, but she realized that no matter what, her hot-blooded brother would always say 4.  so ... what is a clever girl to do?

she requests 0.  which means the average always works out to be 2 -- which just happens to be exactly what she wants.  so then the compromise, of course, isn't really so much of a compromise at all.

outsmarted by a nine-year old. i kind of wish i could just draw that imaginary line after all.