Cookie monster: A family post

Miles has pooped on the potty about four times int he past six weeks. Pretty awesome for a kid who's not even 20 months but not awesome because it's just a tease. Like, "Hey, mom, great job noticing that I was making my poop face. I am going to let you think that one day you won't need to buy diapers and can get regular pedicures but, really, I plan to wear Pull-Ups to prom."

Anyway, one of those four times this weekend. Miles has been all like, "Potty. Potty!" but really wants to grunt on the toilet for a cookie. Because he thinks it will work, obviously. After one of these incidents, I saw the poop face, threw him on a potty and saw success. Miles saw a cookie in his hand.

I tell you this because I'm pretty sure he remembered the poop + cookie thing this morning. And I want to tell you about this morning, if only to tell someone.

I had to change a dirty diaper - no catching of the poop face for me as I was trying to drown my sorrows and sweat in the tub.

"Poop. Diaper. Change," Miles said.

"Yes. Miles pooped in his diaper."

"Cookie?"

"No. We only get cookies when Miles poops in the toilet."

Cue toddler tantrum. For a good two minutes, he screamed "cookie" with tears streaming down his feet and stomped his feet.

And then he stopped. Caught his breath. Looked at me.

"Cookie? Grammy?" Because, obviously, if we call Grammy (my grandma) in Cincinnati, he is going to plead his case and she will force me to give him a cookie.

Not.

I highly doubt that my grandma is going to sympathize with his plight. The woman goes to dialysis three times a week and has the most rigorous diet restrictions outside of the Biggest Loser Ranch - no sugar, no salt, no liquid, no flavor. So to even associate the woman with cookies, much less at 8 a.m., is astounding. But that's not the point. The point is: Where the hell did he learn that kind of manipulation? If I wasn't so tired and easily agitated by the tantrum, I would have been applauding his genius.

Instead? Instead, I was sweeping up sesame seeds off the floor.

I had the pantry open as I was making homemade barbecue sauce for slow cooker pulled pork and wanted easy access to the chili powder, paprika and whatever else the recipe called for. Miles reached in and managed to find the sesame seeds - sesame seeds I haven't been able to find for months. He opened the jar and promptly dumped them on the ground.

"Uh oh," Miles says.

Uh oh is right. I guess that's what I get for refusing him a cookie. And, yes, I'm fairly certain that a 19-month-old is capable of retaliation.

I was none to pleased I began to vacuum 1,920,201,937,355 sesame seeds out of the crevices of my tile floor. I mean, have you ever tried to clean up sesame seeds? It's a bitch - they hide in corners, the crevices between my tiles and the dog doesn't care to eat them. It doesn't improve the situation when Miles wants to help, pushing a broom three times his size around the kitchen. Sesame seeds aren't particularly cheap, either. The most irritating thing about it, though, was I had been looking for those same sesame seeds last month and couldn't find them yet my munchkin could in 0.019 second. Next time, I'll know to ask for his help.

Actually, next time, I'll have some kind of pseudo cookie so I can avoid the entire shenanigan. Yes, cookies for the win.

Note: My grandma, aka Grammy, in all her wisdom said it was my fault as I should have never given Miles the cookie as a reward. Just lots of "Good boy!"