Mercy is for ninnies.

Sometimes mercy is such a pain.

So the last three days we’ve been a one car family and have had to take Daddy to work. On the way home from work the yellow brick road takes us by Tasty’s, a local donut shop. By some sheer coincidence, I have a gift certificate in my purse for Tasty’s┬áthat Jason has insisted we use on the children. Poor children. (Also a very convenient yellow brick road.)

Being the nutritionista that I am, I’ve been insisting that the kids each have a bowl of oatmeal this week before choking down their bar of lard. It’s worked great–until today. Rex knew the donut was coming and refused to have anything to do with his oatmeal.

Like any good mother, I happily let him know he would be forfeiting his ticket to the grease factory, and dragged him kicking and screaming to the car.

Now, any normal sibling would revel in their little brother’s misery, would take joy in nya–nya–nya-nya–nya-ing all the way home that someone wasn’t getting a donut. But do you think my kids cooperated this morning? No. They begged and pleaded on Rex’s behalf. And then when Junie started kicking Harrison and struck out, losing her own donut privilege as well, it was almost more than Harry could handle.

In the end, I bartered with him and agreed that if June could keep her limbs to herself for the remainder of the trip, and if Rex was willing to commit to his bowl of cold oatmeal once we got home, perhaps I would relent.

And everyone got their donut.

(Personally, I did not have a donut, but I did impose a donut tax on all the children, equivalent to one really big bite. But I did NOT have a donut.)


  1. Re your donut tax, we have a permanent Dad Tax at our house. It means I can have a bite of whatever I want to have a bite of. I highly recommend this to all parents.

    I worked at Tasty Donuts for one summer. It was the longest, worst summer of my life. The name still makes me cringe.

  2. I need a donut now. Or 12.

  3. Now I must go to Tastys, because those sandwiches? TO. DIE.FOR.

    Mom Tax over here in Crazyland. I use it for EVERYTHING.

  4. Over here I like to use the “It’s OK, you don’t have to give me a bite of that, after all, I did buy it for you with my hard earned money, AND I grew you in my body for 9 very uncomfortable months. Don’t worry about me, it’s OK, I’m sure I’ll be fine…….(sob)
    My kids usually offer me a bite before I can start on this whole speech. It’s great.

    Guilt, the gift that keeps on giving.

  5. Wait, I don’t understand. you didn’t eat a donut? Why on earth not?

    • annie valentine says:

      I had a Dr’s appointment today and starved myself so the scale would lie. Then we had Mexican food.

  6. Really? You thought the scale would know THAT AFTERNOON if you ate a donut THAT MORNING??

    Amateur. You know nothing of fooling scales. Nothing.

    But the Mexican food thing – brilliant save, Anniebelle!

  7. Ever since I realized that donuts were partly responsible for the extra inches I have instead imposed the mommy tax on my kids’s donuts. It’s a great way to teach kids about the realities of life.

  8. I like the donuts with sprinkles. You shoulda had one. It wouldn’t have hurt you… too bad.