John and I have never been big on budgeting. But we are frugal, so that helps. There was a time when I used to go to the farmer's market back in Florida early in our marriage, and only took a twenty. I had to get the week's fruits and vegetables, which meant choices. If I blew it all on the first row of vendors, there would be no money left by the time I got to the bright red peppers in the back. Farmers arrived early to set up booths, brimming with lettuce and carrots that had been in the ground more recently than I had been in the shower. I had to pay attention to the urge for impulse buying, or there would be no oranges for juicing. I know. Life should be so hard. 

Over the years I got to recognize some of the peddlers, and went back to my favorites. The kids rode in a baby carrier, or eventually sat in the red wagon and munched while I surrounded them with bags of green. It was a friendly way to spend a Wednesday morning. 

One time a friend told me her strategy for complaining at her house. Each kid started the day with six popsicle sticks in a jar decorated with a sun. Over the course of meals and play they were allowed as many criticisms. No more. Each time one of the children snarked, their mom reached for a stick and moved it to a cup with a moon on it. She said nothing. But the child could see the diminishing supply. Rather abruptly there started to be a shift. Kids who used to rattle on without noticing became more mindful of their words. She could see them pause without speaking. The child who was never inclined to whining, and had gone largely unnoticed for it, began to feel good about her full jar. Although there was no stated punishment, they all began to be more interested in keeping popsicle sticks intact than in griping. Imagine that.

She had wondered what might happen next. Perhaps after a month of no overdrafts on sticks they would all go out for ice cream. But it never seemed necessary. For some reason she could not put into words their negativity melted, like a popsicle on the sidewalk. 

Many of us glance at our reflection before we go out the door. It is a chance to see the egg on our cheek and the bump of hair sticking out. It is up to us to decide whether we like it or want to change. Maybe a visual representation of our critical banter does the same thing.