As we approach the Christmas season, I’m noticing more commercial time in between Dora and Diego. So are my kids. They’ve been able to resist the pull of flashy pink Barbie houses and shiny Big Wheels thus far. I can only imagine what next Christmas will bring. Christmas lists filled with glittery junk that they’ll never use because those little actors looked so happy playing with their jiggly brain slime. Is the laboratory and lightning strike included? How about the spooky music and voice-over laugh?
Luckily for me, at two and a half, my girls have yet to discover that they can want things they’ve never had. Still, imagine my surprise this morning when, as I’m getting breakfast ready, one of my little ones yanks on my robe.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Choc, mama. Choc. Mama. Choooooooooooc.”
She points to the cabinet.
At this point, I’m down on my haunches, looking her square in the face, trying to read her lips or her eyes, trying to get some indication of what she could possibly be asking for at 8:30 a.m.
She is persistent. I realize that a large part of my ability to understand my children is my knowledge of their routine, of what they would normally want at any given time. With a littany of items to choose from this morning, I am at a complete loss.
Until I hear the TV.
“Give her what she wants this season, a decadent treat of smooth, creamy chocolate.”
“Oh,” I say, laughing and taking her by the shoulders, “Chocolate? You want chocolate?”
She gives a big smiling nod.
She turns off the charm and stomps out of the room. This, apparently, is an outrage.
The funniest part is that my daughter doesn’t even really like chocolate. She consistently turns it down as a treat. The power of suggestion is finally starting to take hold. My babies are growing up. They will soon be fine, upstanding, young consumers.
She doesn’t even like chocolate.
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