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i was home for lunch on a workday. marty and the boys were out on an adventure leaving bella as the sole occupant in the home. after eating and getting ready to walk back to the office, bella approached me in the kitchen and asked if she could have a brownie and ice cream. the first missile my brain loaded in the tube would have forcibly shot from my mouth in a barking manner, "you mean for lunch?!?!". but now that i claim more than a decade's worth of parental seniority, the more seasoned workers in my brain told those slackers to put that blunt missile back on the rack. management then scanned the shelves for a more elegant, more effective response and found one. while bella still looked at me with her hopeful, doe-sized eyes, i pulled the trigger on the new round of ammo saying, "yes you may ... if ice cream and brownies will help to make you the person you want to be".

at the word yes, obviously, her face rose in promise but quickly fell realizing a caveat, a paternal caveat, existed on the backside of the sentence. she frowned and thought for a moment, then brightened again continuing:

yes, yes it would make me the person i want to be because it would make me happy.

i'm not talking about the six minutes you'd spend eating it. i'm talking about the six minutes after you ate it.

BELLA (re-crestfallen)
i hate talking with you sometimes.

there's a full, patch-wearing club out there, somewhere, you could join that shares your sentiment baya. i'm sure of it.

there are moments i feel bad or sad for depriving my children of guilt-free access to the bevy of children's delights at their disposal but when i tally the number of fanciful, shiny, and tasty toys and treats that sit begging for consumption these days, i fear it is a burden of modern-day parents to stand at the wall and hold the line.




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