See the Sleeping Gummi

Behold the Crabtot's daily gummi bear, this one taking a "little tiny resti-pops," as we call it in our house. (Sorry the image is a bit pathetic -- camera is one problem and then to take it further, I can't crop cause I aint got Photoshop [or any sort of image program]...the saga of Crabmom's computer-nonsense continues but hold on, friends, hold on, for my new Mac arrives next week if the idiots at Apple will stop phoning me and just get on with the sending...will soon be awash in swell new equipment.)
Back to the point, sadly Crabtot's own little tiny resti-pops is a thing of the distant past; you may recall that we have moved from naptime to so-called quiet time. Occasionally there is a brief spell of silence when she falls asleep in the closet, but mostly quiet time is a loud affair involving constantly banging doors and threats of denying the gummi bear that makes life worth living. Make that "an orange one." And only an orange one.

Here's an irony Crabgrandmommy pointed out: when they are small all you want is for them to sleep, but they don't want to. Then when they are teenagers all they want to do is sleep, but now you don't want them to. And there you are, loudly rapping on the door or bustling into the room and whipping open the curtains, demanding Crabteen get up and face the day. But for God's sake, Mom, it's not yet noon...what's your problem? I had a late night making out with my Ralph Macchio poster and trying to give myself a tattoo with my math compass and some fountain pen ink.

The same irony might well apply to shopping for clothes. Yesterday I had to beg Crabtot to let me buy her expensive snowboots and promising the almighty orange gummi pictured here if we can just try on the shoes nicely. So you beg them to let you buy the boots. And the day will come, no doubt, when she will want to buy expensive snowboots and I, Cheapmommy that I am, will be none too pleased. Perhaps she will bribe me by proffering the treats of which I am fond and lately trying to deny myself, since my cheerful dentist has scheduled me for a fleet of costly appointments. The treats being licorice allsorts, or Maynard's fruit pastilles, a sublime English candy that we import from the World Market in Utah. (Google, please advertise that one. It is well worth a click.)

I can't resist the lure. Of a sugar-coated blackberry pastille. Even the word "pastille" makes me salivate. And now it is worse in my house because there are so many gummi bears around (since tot only eats the orange ones) that I end up frequently stuffing clots of green and red gummi bears into my mouth...

If only I had Crabtot's willpower and played with my single pastille for several hours a day, giving it a little tiny resti-pops and so on, then I would not have to spend many greenbacks at the cheerful dentist. And I would have more greenbacks for buying my own expensive snowboots, or perhaps a new robe for blogging in -- goodbye purple chenille number, soon I shall have a fetching silk kimono...Make that an orange one.