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Ginger Snap Sniffer

It started with a lone ginger snap.  One I’d asked my son not to chomp on until I’d backed the van out of the garage.  I just wasn’t up for negotiating a second cookie while I was still in the driveway.  And he completely complied.

And then he did the only thing I didn’t see coming.  He held his cookie.  

Followed by the next thing I’d’ve never guessed.  He said that he wanted to save his cookie. 

I’ve heard that this is possible–children simply saving a cookie for later.  But it has never been the stance my son has taken.  No cookie has ever made it ’til ‘later.’ 

Here’s my son with his cookie pinched between his fingers.  We’ve been in the car ten minutes, and the cookie’s still intact.   No visible teeth marks.  No half moon. No nothin’.

Just a whole lof of sniffing.  Which I suppose is what prompted him to say that he was playing “dog”–a game I certainly hadn’t heard of, but which seemed to have simple rules that merely involved sniffing the cookie.  To death.

The same cookie would be carried precariously inside the first store, by which time my son would drop it just past the welcome mat and suck in his breath twice as someone’s cart nearly nicked it.  Then as I glanced at games, his cookie would get loose again, this time in the linens. Only he’d recover it with a full body dive such that the hearty snap would sweep ten feet of the floor without breaking. 

At which time the five-second rule would come to mind.  Specifically in terms of just how many five-second rules could be applied to the same subject.  We were certainly working on number three or four.

Only it was time to sniff the thing again. 

And then time to coddle the cookie, as it was more friend now than food.

That we would enter the second store with the same sad snap must say something.  Only I don’t know what that is.  I just know that as we rounded the corner to the candles, my son’s face flushed.  His cookie wasn’t with us. 

Which was when I did something I didn’t know I’d do.  I turned our cart around in the whole of Michaels to find a single snap.  The snap my son had set down in the marker aisle so he could color the tops of his hands, and which was still resting on top of a pack of pastels .  And which nearly made him cry when he saw it again. 

That snap.

The snap he would eventually pull from his sweaty pocket two hours and ten minutes after it’d left the bag in the garage…and eat.   And then add in his three-year-old honesty, “it was yummy.”  Which could only mean…

It’d been well-worth the wait.


2 Responses to “Ginger Snap Sniffer”

  1. Carolyn Moore says:

    Hilarious!!! I can’t believe it took him so long to eat the Snap!!
    I would have been well into the second dozen.

  2. Ruth Slagowski says:

    His ability to show such restraint was amazing! It’s incredible the snap lasted so long… but he forged a special bond with it before he ate it!! Ha….. what a kid!!!!!

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