Monday, January 03, 2005
You can't always get what you want....
I look forward to taking Max shopping with me with about as much enthusiasm as having liver and onions for dinner. I can rationalize this in two ways: (1) I get finished in half the time, and (2) I want to keep Max's list of unfulfilled wishes as short as possible.
On those unfortunate days when Max does come along, I can guarantee that almost everything he asks for will be unacceptable to me. If I allowed myself to dwell on it, I might realize how pitiful his small, outstretched hand looks as he gropes helplessly at the cookies, chips and sweets that I pass without breaking stride. When he asks for a forbidden treat, I have a standard reply. My voice registering all the astonishment I can muster, I exclaim, "Why, Max! We can't take that home. It doesn't belong to us!" Of course, this explanation leaves out a lot of salient information, like the fact that we could actually pay for those things and then they would be ours. But contrary to the prevailing view on Madison Avenue, Max has no business being a member of the consuming public. Period.
In spite of my efforts, it is dawning on Max that he can at least try bargaining for the things we pass in stores. Shopping for groceries today, Max asked if he could have a piece of chocolate, and I refused. He begged for pretzels, and I refused. He pleaded for candy, and I refused. As we passed through the bakery, he whined for a cake. I refused yet again, and that's when Max started to sing:
“I miss Babee! I miss Babee!”
On those unfortunate days when Max does come along, I can guarantee that almost everything he asks for will be unacceptable to me. If I allowed myself to dwell on it, I might realize how pitiful his small, outstretched hand looks as he gropes helplessly at the cookies, chips and sweets that I pass without breaking stride. When he asks for a forbidden treat, I have a standard reply. My voice registering all the astonishment I can muster, I exclaim, "Why, Max! We can't take that home. It doesn't belong to us!" Of course, this explanation leaves out a lot of salient information, like the fact that we could actually pay for those things and then they would be ours. But contrary to the prevailing view on Madison Avenue, Max has no business being a member of the consuming public. Period.
In spite of my efforts, it is dawning on Max that he can at least try bargaining for the things we pass in stores. Shopping for groceries today, Max asked if he could have a piece of chocolate, and I refused. He begged for pretzels, and I refused. He pleaded for candy, and I refused. As we passed through the bakery, he whined for a cake. I refused yet again, and that's when Max started to sing:
“I miss Babee! I miss Babee!”
1 Comments:
"It doesn't belong to us." Heehee. That's funny. I'm not sure that would've occurred to me.
You didn't finish the chorus of the song, but is is also true. Max is getting what he needs from you: limits, and lots of love.
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