Well, not of cigarettes but of Graham Crackers. This afternoon I was alone with her and she was crying her eyes out and I gave her a quarter of a cracker. She ate that in two bites and started crying again. I gave her another quarter. She ate that in two bites and started crying again.
Can you see where I'm going with this.
I can't tell you how many quarters I gave her but it wasn't the whole box. If I did tell you Heidi would probably tell me that, "You can't give her that many crackers because it will ruin her dinner." But isn't that part of what I do? Sort of do anything to make my daughter happy so that she will love me someday--after the years of hating me when she is a teenager. I think I'm just following the job description.
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