Skip to main content

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
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Holy Separated-At-Birth, Batman!

Gary Oldman...meet Uncle Knit-Knots from Imagination Movers.
Post a Comment
Read more

Hair

This has become the age-old question...Why do men hate short hair on women? I've been thinking about this a lot because my current style, an angled bob, requires a bunch of fussing every morning to get it to do anything. My favorite haircut of all time, as far as ease of care, was my pixie cut. I loved that I could wash it, gel it, and be done. No blow drying or flattening or curling. Just gel and go. Very sporty. I thought it looked cute. My husband has another opinion. The longer the better is his motto. Thing is, my hair becomes an unruly, tangled, nappy mop when it gets long. If I had all the time in the world and Jennifer Aniston's budget, I'd be more than happy to grow it long and have others style it every day. In real life, I guess I'd rather go for comfort and convenience. And if you ask me, I think the pixie is dang cute. I suspect heterosexual men aren't hot on short hair, in general, because it's too much like their own hair. No matter how much jewel
5 comments
Read more

Ho, Ho, Ho, How Many Times Can I Use "I'm too busy" as an Excuse?

I haven't had time to write. Work, swim meet volunteering, holiday decorating and shopping. But truthfully, I've not been in much of a mood to write anything anyway. Last night we put up the tree and Santa chachkies, and I drank my first egg nog of the season, so perhaps I'll be in a cheerier mood. Also, I have spent some time writing the annual Schoon holiday newsletter. If you happen to get a copy, treat it like a drinking game. Every time I make you roll your eyes, take a drink. Nog, wassail, Everclear. Whatever gets you through. One sure way to assist with merriment motivation is listening to Christmas carols. I'm not going to get into a debate over what truly constitutes a carol. You can "Jesus is the reason for the season" yourself until you turn blue; I generally lean toward the secular end of the holiday tune spectrum. And if you just gasped at my use of holiday instead of Christmas, go suck on a candy cane. It's my blog and my opinions. Deal.
2 comments
Read more