I often times have a flashback to a giggle-worthy memory of days gone by.
Recently, I thought about one particular Sunday after church when I was about 4 years old. I was being a pain-where-a-pill-can't-reach to my mother and, consequently, was sent to my room.
Random side note - I have always had the nose of some acute hunting animal. I would come home hours after my mother had eaten a chocolate bar and immediately ask, "Where'd you hide the chocolate?" She was astonished at my ability to sniff out even microscopic amounts of chocolate.
Back to my story. As I was imprisoned in my room, I smelled the delectable aroma of chocolate wafting through the cracks of my door. I creaked it open, looked down the hall towards the kitchen, and pleaded as only a 4-year old can do, "Mommy, can I have some chocolate?" My addiction started at a very young age.
Her response? Sometimes our poor, distraught mothers stooped to the level of those 4-year old screaming children. "You can have some when you tell me you love me!"
I slammed the door, thought about it for a moment, opened the door, and said, "Mommy, I love you!" I remember being so torn between being stubborn or getting the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I opted for the pot of gold...or pot of chocolate fondue with bananas, as luck would have it :-)