Posted in Uncategorized

In which guacamole is eaten and repetition is the sincerest form of love

I made guacamole from the last avacodo in my fridge this morning. Can’t stand the store bought stuff; it just doesn’t taste the same. I’m looking forward to harvesting my garden for the same reason. The salsa I make beats Tostitos ANYDAY.

My daughter wanted chips, but she refused to eat the guacamole. Keep in mind that she LOVED it when she was one year old and food was still a novelty.

So I told her if she ate ONE chip with guacamole, she could have a whole handful of chips without it. Would you believe she ate that chip and dipped the rest of her reward handful in the guacamole until I had to fight for my own portion.

In the meantime, dear son is 18 months and a bundle of mischief. No, really. He’s silent which makes it worse.

He’s been climbing up on the table to reach things – his sister’s workbook, the markers, guacamole, chips, his nuk, and anything else that draws his attention. I’ve been lax in catching him and making him get down, but he recently fell midway through his journey to the top. I realized I needed to take drastic action.

So I watched for his move and dragged him down with a stern talking to. He cried and cried and cried like I had just murdered his best friend (the nuk). Then I hugged him and held him and let him calm until he asked to get down.

Thirty seconds later, he was back up on the table. We did the whole process again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

I wanted to cry by the twentieth time (NOT exaggerating) but he probably would have laughed at me.

By the thirty-first time, I think he got it. Of course, it could have just been that his sister was done eating my guacamole and wanted to play with him. Being the good younger brother, he kindly left me in peace until the next time the kitchen table becomes his Mount Everest.


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