They should really consider renaming some candies

We are not above bribing our children. I am, in fact, the sort of father who is willing to buy his way into the hearts of his offspring. At this point, it is only Caleb who is able to cash in, but I have already cut a few deals with Ainsley. For instance, I promised her a pony if she delays her arrival past the Utah vs. Michigan game this fall. Two ponies if she will be born on a Monday afternoon so I get the full week off of work.

For Caleb, the stakes aren't quite as high. A half-sippy of chocolate milk if he'll eat his hamburger, a chip dipped in Queso for every two bites of dinner. Is it bad parenting? Perhaps, but I know most of you are going through your own experiences as a mom or dad right now, remembering the times you're role resembled that of bookie more than parent.

Probably the most frequent bargain we strike with The Boy is a package of Smarties if he keeps his shoes on the entire time at the grocery store. In defense of bribing my children, Caleb has also developed a sense of fairplay. When he takes a shoe off, or both shoes, or both shoes, both socks, a pair of pants, and starts working on his diaper, he will announce, somewhat dejectedly, "No Smarties." It's very cute and I'm convinced is a play on his part for us to give him the Smarties anyway.

Well, tragedy struck this past week at the grocery store, and Dick's in Bountiful stopped giving away individual packages of Smarties. Not to be refused, the Lovely and Talented Wife looked to buy a large bag full of Smarties, realizing that, if she carried one or two packages in the diaper bag she could employ the same carrot at Target, at Costco, everywhere! No longer would sugar-coated bribery be limited to the confines of the grocery store checkout line, but it could now permeate every aspect of Caleb's social and cognitive development. So long, Doctor Spock; Babywise, farewell! Your services are no longer required. She would now have two pounds of Smarties to govern our child's behavior like a true B.F. Skinner disciple! She raced her grocery cart to the candy aisle, weaving in and out of soccer moms like a blonde Danica Patrick, Caleb screaming delightedly all the while, "Run away!" Frantically she searched the shelves, flinging bags of candy to the floor as snot-nosed children cowered in fear. Ultimately, she realized the truth of the matter: not only did Dick's not carry individual packages of Smarties, they also did not carry them in large bags. As she stood in the wreckage formerly known as aisle nine, she considered her options. Murder? Too Shakespearean. Arson? Too conspicuous.

Then, like a Republican who just discovered a new tax cut, she saw her solution. There, at her feet, lay a package of suckers. She didn't need Smarties. Triumphantly, she carried the bag to the front of the store, swiped her credit card, and walked into the sunset, suckers, boy, shoes and all.

The name on the bag of suckers? Dum-Dums.

mw