It’s pretty common knowledge, at least around these parts, that Vivienne has her dad and myself wrapped around her little finger.
But a succession of events this afternoon is proof positive that Vivienne has her daddy ridiculously wrapped around her little finger.
Chris came into the kitchen to find Vivi perched precariously on a chair, reaching for some deliciousness on the third shelf of the pantry. Third shelf = not accessible to small children = off limits. And he told her to get down. That it was dangerous. And that it wasn’t snack time.
Vivienne, in her usual fashion, took it to heart. And the tears started to roll. And the lip started to pout… and quiver.
From my office I could hear the events unfolding and I asked Chris why Vivienne was crying. He answered and then he called her to him, to scoop her up and love on her.
I could tell without even looking… it was too quiet. And it had gone from sweet to sickening. Chris was standing in front of the opened refrigerator with Vivienne in his arms. Pointing.
She was working him over in a mighty big way.
So I called him out on it.
“Babe. Don’t spoil her. When she cries like that, you can’t reward her by giving her what she wanted in the first place.”
“I’m not spoiling her. I’m just asking her if she wants anything.”