Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough
A good mother would have a clean, well-fed, angelic cherub who says things like "Thank you for the delicious brussel sprouts, Mommy."
My child is currently running her fingers around the inside of the container, lest any ice cream go to waste. Absorbed as she is in this task, Molly has managed to transform her hands and her face into a sticky mess.
I swear she was clean for five whole minutes after her bath. She'll never stand still for a second scrubbing. I'll have to wait until she falls asleep; then I'll get a damp washcloth and clean her up again. Yeah, that should work.
A good mother would feed her child fruits and vegetables.
Molly smiles up at me, a beatific expression on her ice cream-stained face.
I have a happy child. Screw fruits and vegetables.
For now.
"If I had a dog," Molly proclaims, "I would name him Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough."
"We're not getting a dog," I answer automatically.
"I'd take care of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough all by myself."
"Molly, my love, we do not have room for a dog. We barely have enough room for you and me and Daddy. I don't know how we're going to fit the--"
I stop myself before I say the word "baby," but Molly looks at me curiously. "The company," I finish. "Wouldn't you like Aunt CJ and Uncle Evan to stay with us next time they visit instead of having them stay in a hotel?"
That works. Thoughts of dogs and babies are left behind while Molly sighs dreamily. "Uncle Evan," she whispers happily.
Do we even have fruits and vegetables? I begin foraging around in the refrigerator--two eggs, half a carton of milk one month beyond its expiration date, an item that might have been fruit once but whose identity it is now impossible to decipher.
I am a failure as a mother. I should not be allowed to reproduce again.
"We're having brussel sprouts for dinner tomorrow, I announce. "I'll go to the store after class."
Molly looks horrified. "'Stead of to 'Sylvania to see Daddy?" she asks.
Brussel sprouts. Healthy foods for my daughter.
Room service for my daughter. Hot sex with my daughter's father for me.
Yeah, I'm a terrible mother.
"I suppose the hotel will have brussel sprouts." In parenting, as in marriage and politics, compromise is the key.
"No!" Molly fairly screams. "You know what I get from room service, Mommy. You promised."
She was two years old when I made that promise. Shouldn't she have forgotten, or at least have grown tired of it by now?
"Did I promise something?" I ask. "A lifetime of broccoli and spinach, perhaps?"
Molly laughs, because her mommy is too silly. "Turkey with dressing. And pink lemonade to drink."
Hey, turkey is better for her than ice cream. And doesn't dressing have celery and stuff?
"Fine. Turkey and pink lemonade tomorrow."
Molly claps her hands in delight. "And I can drink Coke on the airplane!"
Right. Cause that's what she needs. More sugar in her system. "No Coke," I answer. "Water. Apple juice if you're really good." I try looking stern and parental; Molly looks cunning.
"Can I have the window seat?" she asks.
"Yes."
Molly nods. "Deal. Apple juice and the window seat."
"And carrot sticks," I add in a last desperate attempt to get fruits and vegetables into my child's diet. "We'll stop by the grocery store on our way to the airport and get one of those packages of carrot sticks. You can eat those on the plane."
"I like carrot sticks."
"So everybody's happy."
"Can I get one of those big chocolate chip cookies at the airport?"
"No. Definitely not."
Molly's lower lip juts out. She's about to try the pouting child routine, but then the telephone rings.
A good mother would not practically knock her four-year-old down in the rush to talk to Josh first.
Of course, since she's in good enough shape to beat me to the phone, maybe Molly doesn't need fruits and vegetables every night after all.
***
10.20.04