Baby, You Can Drive my Carbs
Daniel arrives clutching his blankie, and in full roar. It’s not the norm, but it happens from time to time. Distraction works well, but today neither the dogs, nor the toy trucks, nor a book, nor even knocking over a tower of blocks works.
Time for the Big Guns.
“Hey, buddy? Want some Cheerios?” His wails stop for a split second, and even when he resumes, his eyes meet mine. Ha! I’ve got him.
(Optimal child management? Nope. There is a time to bend those principles. It`s called compromising with reality, or knowing your tolerances. My tolerances a bit low today. Insomnia has me running on about half my normal sleep allotment. I figure I do it rarely enough — compromise my principles, I mean, this is the first time since that linked post was written in February — and since the children are well-behaved, noon-picky eaters, I can cut myself the occasional slack.)
Nor, mind you, do I pretend it’s anything other than what it is.
“Here, love. You sit right there, and I will bribe you with carbs.” Blissful silence descends, punctuated only by the soft sound of crunching Cheerios.
Poppy, a total carb fiend, widens her eyes at the small handful of Cheerios poured out onto the dining table.
“Mary! Mary, I wanna drive my carbs, too!!!”
And so she did. And everyone was happy ever after.