Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2002-04-15 - 9:00 p.m.

A Baklava Day

A Baklava Day

You're not supposed to use food as a reward, I know. At least, that's the prevailing philosophy. I don't care. It was a baklava day for me.

I got the kids up and off to school with breakfast inside them, brushed and backpacked and on time. I got myself to my first job on time, and my second job on time. I picked the kids up at school on time, and got Older Daughter to the orthodontist on time, and got an overdue bill paid and tax papers in the mail for my father, my mother, and myself. I got Younger Daughter to her therapy group on time, picked up and delivered a prescription for my boss, picked the kid up, took us all home, fed everybody, washed two heads of hair (neither one mine), washed dishes and did a load of laundry. I did a Web thing I had said I would do tonight.

I did good.

I don't know. I took my dog to obedience training and they instructed us to carry little baggies of cut-up hot dog for reinforcement. I took the boss's dog to agility training and we carried treats and dispensed them for good behavior. I don't LIKE cut up hot dogs, myself, but the method sure worked. So what's wrong with the baklava plan?

I'm just not sold on this virtue-is-its-own-reward thing any more. I ought to feel good, and I suppose I do, but what I also feel is 1) cross with my children because I am tired, 2) cross with my children because they are irritating, 3) cross with my children because one of them just committed the unspeakable act of getting out of bed for a drink of water. Perhaps tossing myself a small bit of baklava for pushing the ball up the hill all day would improve my mood. I'm willing to make the noble experiment.

I know tiramisu wouldn't work, because I don't think if I carried it in a baggie in my pocket that it would look like much of a treat after an hour or two. And I'm not much of a chocolate person (so shoot me, I'm just not.) But I think some of those little squares of baklava might just do the trick.

Out of bed without hitting the snooze button? Baklava. Called my mother? Baklava. Brought the mail in the house? Baklava baklava baklava.

This could work.

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