Back about 100 years ago, or at least it feels that long ago, I bought a giant bag of Dum Dum lollipops. You know the bag - it's so massive that its contents end up occupying some part of your pantry for far longer than they should? Five years later you're still trying to pawn off the root beer flavor on some kids at Halloween? Yeah, the big one.
Anyway, Willow recently discovered that we had this treasure in our possession, and since lollipops are already her favorite, she has taken to asking for one at least ten times a day. Typically, she is easily dissuaded by a simple redirect. But recently she has become quite difficult to say no to.
Since I say no to her question of, "Wolpop?!" at least 95% of the time, she has gotten the hint that this question usually results in negative responses. So, she tried an experiment - she changed something about the question she asked in the hope that the type of answer she got would change too - smart, no? :)
Now had she opted to change the content of the question by asking for an apple instead I would have been supremely pleased (and probably patting myself on the back for totally acing parenting). But, no. That is not exactly what she decided to go with. To her, the obvious choice was to change her volume as she asked - so she started whispering it to me.
I can't begin to tell you how precious this is - hence the whole difficulty in saying no. I love the whole conclusion she made - that somehow asking more quietly would be less offensive to me, and I might say yes more often. In truth, she was right. I have said yes more often. Because of the cuteness, guys.
But, I knew I needed to put my foot down. So recently I decided to put on my mean mommy hat and be firm. A whole day without lollipops. Zero. I was steadfast. No longer would I be the willing pawn of cuteness. My resolve would not waver. Famous last words, right?
It started out totally fine. The first few inquiries were deflected easily enough but as the afternoon wore on and I continued to decline I began to sense her growing desperation.
The whispers grew quieter, but screechier at the same time, too. She practically wheezed it at me once.
I started to feel bad for the kid - also, I was having a hard time holding back laughter. And it's tough to have your kid take you seriously when you break into a grin while doling out a no.
One such laughing fit forced me to turn my back on her quickly to gain composure. As I turned around a minute later my heart just burst because there she was, my lollipop loving little girl, pleading with her eyes while she emphatically mouthed the word "WOLPOP!" on an endless loop. Even a whisper was too much now. The only choice was no sound. Silence. And every ounce of determination she had.
So what did I do?
I gave her a lollipop, of course.