Deal the First: if you're going to play with your Legos up in the bay window behind the sofa, and I repeatedly tell you to play on the floor instead because you keep losing your Legos piece by piece between the wall and that sofa, do not whine at me when you no longer have enough Legos to build your castle and expect me to leap to Lego rescue on the day I have injured my back and am waiting to see if an urgent care visit is in order. I am even less inclined to be helpful as your whining escalates in volume.
Deal the Second: I don't generally try to give you food issues to deal with later in life, but you know what? When you bring me a piece of pre-wrapped string cheese that you want to eat, make me open the package and then you take one tiny little bite before proclaiming that you want to eat something else instead, you are going to sit right there on the horrible Lego-devouring sofa and eat every last bite of that goddamn cheese, because A) pre-wrapped string cheese ain't cheap; and B) because I am a mean and horrible daddy that obviously doesn't love you.
Sophie's life is worse than being in a Stalinist gulag, I know.
