As I was cooking he renewed his pleas, begun hours earlier, for a cookie. And wouldn't you know it, entirely unprompted, from his mouth comes "May I please have a cookie?" It being just before dinner, I wasn't about to give him a cookie. It was painful, for both of us. I made a big fuss over his saying what I hoped he would say, but still didn't give him the cookie. Fortunately, he ate all of his dinner, even the second helping he asked for (rare that he asks and when he does, almost unheard of that he ate it all) and some fruit. I offered him a cookie and all was right with the world. He even wanted to share, saving the last bite for me.
This was one of those days where I found myself thinking I probably tortured my family just like this when I was growing up. And I wasn't nearly as cute as Oliver.
1 comment:
Thanks for stopping by my place! I actually found you a few weeks ago, but couldn't find my way back when I went to add you to my reader.
Anyway, I am like the Please Police at my house. Nobody gets nothing if they don't ask nice. So, I totally feel ya'!
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