Meet the Mighty Powerful Force of S-N-A-C-K-S

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You're going to find me despicable. This, my confession, is supposed to be a preemptive measure so The Universe goes easy on the Karma tomorrow.

When I picked up Chloe from her GiGi tonight, Chloe didn't want to go. Naturally. She's two-and-a-half. NO NO NO NO is her trademark phrase for me. I have my devices to deal with this.

It was after work, so I was worn out mentally and simply not cozying up to the idea of entering into a "teaching moment" when Chloe fed me her resistance and desire to keep playing with this hoolahoop that's five times her size.

My device of choice tonight?  A big fat lie.  "Chloe, let's go ride in the Jeep.  Do you want a snack?  I have a treat for you."

She looked up and ran to me, "I WANNA SNACK! I WANNA SNACK! I WANNA SNACK!"

What a sucker.

What a pair of suckers! See, I became mildly haunted by guilt for so casually embracing this technique of lying to get this child into her car seat.  I asked her in the rearview mirror, "Do you want milk or juice?"

In her typical I-take-what-you've-got-pal demanding voice, "I want juice!  I want milk!  I want fruity snacks!"

"Is milk okay?  Let's get milk.  We have to make a stop to get the snack, okay?"  She just stared at me, likely puzzled at this "make a stop" business.

"I WANT MILK!" Okay . . .

Tonight may be the first time anyone has ever taken her to the gas station mini-mart for a snack; and I'm definitely the only one who's sold it to her as a real treat.  I think dads get all the fantastic firsts -- one day I'll get to tell Chloe that she was with me the first time she got to see a whole 500-square-foot room filled with goodies made with her favorites: high fructose corn syrup and sugar.  What a special memory.

We picked up a small milk, a bottle of water and a double pack of Grandmother's Chocolate Chip Cookies. She climbed into the backseat, sat perfectly in her car seat and politely said, "I want a cookie."  I opened the package and broke off half of a cookie for her.

Then I asked, "Do you like snacks?"


"I like snacks.  Mama likes snacks." And I began to pour her some milk into a sippy cup.  "You know what?" I quizzed,"This is what we do when we go on road trips to Mexico.  Yeah!  We eat snacks."

She stopped chewing her cookie, her eyes turned the size of basketballs at this wonderfully beautiful idea, and she squealed a high pitched giggle as I backed out of the parking space and drove down the road. Looking straight ahead, I let that idea sink in to her little impressionable mind, and I smirked.  Tomorrow, she'll be begging to go to Mexico.


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