I've come to the realization that raising a toddler is a lot like doing business in a developing nation. Bribery? Check. Coercion? Check. Willful ignorance of minor infractions? Double check.
Which is not to say that there aren't moments of pure and uncomplicated joy. Because there are many. But it's funny how often I hear myself beginning sentences with "Well, then I guess we can't..." or "If you do X, you can have Y."
The funny thing, of course, is that these methods usually work. Stickers and prizes were the key to potty training. And they're working wonders for keeping the wanderer in bed after he's been tucked in, read to, retucked in, hugged, given a glass of water, and assured about the situation regarding monsters (i.e., negative).
The prospect of this treat, toasting marshmallows, had been held out over the course of the week as a kind of all-purpose bribe, covering the eating of dinner, kindness toward Jane [not usually a problem anyway], and general good behavior.
[Disclaimer: I should note here that Samson is an awfully good kid. He's well behaved and is overall a pretty easygoing child. That said, he's also four.]
So last night, while Vicki put Jane to bed and Samson got dressed for being "in the cold," I went out to start a small fire in the firepit on our patio . It was going pretty nicely by the time Samson and Vicki arrived with the marshmallows.
It was a perfect October night. Just cool enough for a fire, just light enough to see what we were doing, and Samson --- despite the hours upon hours spent playing fireman --- was pretty timid about the fire. Which is a good thing. There will be time enough yet for him to turn into Beavis.
He also does not, apparently, like marshmallows --- toasted or otherwise. Even so, it was nice to be outside.
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