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On a sugar low...

Our son is learning a lesson. A life lesson. A hard-knock lesson about how we don't always get what we want. Especially when all we've done for the past 73 minutes is whine and complain and cry and stomp and yell and call our parents inappropriate names and refuse to eat our broccoli and stick our fork out pretending to shoot Mommy with it.

What is it that he is not getting, yet so desperately wanting?

Chocolate.

Damn. Don't we all.

Thing is, if he'd just done what we asked and been polite while doing it, we were planning on giving him a piece of nutty, gooey confection that Mommy picked up from a new chocolatier in a nearby 'burb.

The demon-child-fit-from-the-pit-of-Hades effectively nixed that plan.

So for the past -- what is it now -- 78 minutes, we have heard this...

Wwaaaaaahhhhhh. I really want chocolate. Pleaaaaasseee. Pleassse. Oh I really want it. Pleeaaaasssee. I really want chocolate. That's all I want, I'll be good. I promise. Pleaaassee. Waaaaaaahhhhhh. Waaaaaaaaaahhhhhaaahahahahahhahh. But pleaseeee. I really want it. I do. Ohhhh...I really really really want it. Pleaaaasse. Chocolate. Chocolatechocolatechocolate. Pleasseeee. Wwaaaaaahhhhhh. I really want chocolate. Pleaaaaasseee. Pleassse. Oh I really want it. Pleeaaaasssee. I really want chocolate. That's all I want, I'll be good. I promise. Pleaaassee. Waaaaaaahhhhhh. Waaaaaaaaaahhhhhaaahahahahahhahh. But pleaseeee. I really want it. I do. Ohhhh...I really really really want it. Pleaaaasse. Chocolate. Chocolatechocolatechocolate. Pleasseeee. Wwaaaaaahhhhhh. I really want chocolate. Pleaaaaasseee. Pleassse. Oh I really want it. Pleeaaaasssee. I really want chocolate. That's all I want, I'll be good. I promise. Pleaaassee. Waaaaaaahhhhhh. Waaaaaaaaaahhhhhaaahahahahahhahh. But pleaseeee. I really want it. I do. Ohhhh...I really really really want it. Pleaaaasse. Chocolate. Chocolatechocolatechocolate. Pleasseeee. Wwaaaaaahhhhhh. I really want chocolate. Pleaaaaasseee. Pleassse. Oh I really want it. Pleeaaaasssee. I really want chocolate. That's all I want, I'll be good. I promise. Pleaaassee. Waaaaaaahhhhhh. Waaaaaaaaaahhhhhaaahahahahahhahh. But pleaseeee. I really want it. I do. Ohhhh...I really really really want it. Pleaaaasse. Chocolate. Chocolatechocolatechocolate. Pleasseeee.

And oh, now what is Tim doing? He's walking over to the...oh no. Tim. Don't do it. Don't don't don't. He's opening the box. He's handing the demon-child-fit-from-the-pit-of-Hades a piece of stinking candy.

"Why did you do that????" I ask, dumbfounded. We just went through 79.5 minutes of agony and it's all for nothing. We've been had by a criminally savvy preschooler. Either that, or we're the world's dumbest enforcers of parental law. Which would YOU say?

"He promises he'll be good until December," Tim says.

Great. I'll pass that along to Santa.

Comments

Anonymous said…
I wasn't sure what to get Henry for his birthday to make him like me, but now I know. Thanks for the shopping advice.

Chilly Dog
8:29 PM
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