Tonight at dinner we resorted to threatening Sophie with missing a parade if she wouldn't eat.
Santa will be in the parade tonight, and we told her that we'd shout out to him: "Sophie has been good!" if she ate, but that we'd have to tell him she'd been bad if she didn't.
This was highly effective at first.
Perhaps you've seen the buckets suspended high on poles at water parks. They slowly fill with water, and then suddenly empty out on whoever is standing below. Because you can't see in the bucket, you don't ever really know when it will empty. Little kids stand below, giggling in anticipation.
Sophie was doing quite well, really quite well, when we went a step too far.
In an effort to get one last bite in her, I grabbed the phone and told her I was going to have to call Santa to cancel the parade.
We'd done this before, earlier, and the result had been a hastily gobbled spoonful of lentils.
This time, Sophie burst into heartbroken, racking sobs of despair.
I hugged her, and kissed her, and told her we were definitely going to the parade.
And then we gave her a gingerbread man we'd been saving for later. Which she devoured. And it was a big gingerbread man, too.
So: Santa Gamit=failed.
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