All the Balls

Recently, while eating at Mariscos Mazatlan, Connor was overwhelmed with desire for one of the little bouncy balls found in the standard array of ball/candy/Bubba Teeth dipensers required in all Mexican restaurants. The last time we indulged this desire we had to avoid Mexican restaurants for almost a year until Connor had matured just a bit, enough that he could stare longingly at the balls from his seat rather than while seated in the floor in front of the dispensers. As a result, I always give a firm "no" to the ball requests.

Connor knows that, so he waited to ask until I was outside, on the south side of Winchester Road, risking my life walking my restless 20-month-old daughter back and forth in front of the pawn shop located next door to Mariscos Mazatlan in the strip mall that contains both of these fine establishments. By timing his question just right, he was able to elicit a response of "Maybe if you eat all your food," instead of the usual, "No," which I think is just a cruel way of postponing the inevitable since you and I both know Connor has never, ever eaten all his food.

By the time I got involved in the ball discussion, our meal was over and Connor had eaten exactly three French fries and one bite of chicken nugget. I said, "No you can not have a ball! You have 48 million quadrillion balls at home already, and you can play with one of those when you get home!" Connor pouted and said, "I do not have 48 balls!" Of course, neither of us could wait to go home and count. We rounded up just the balls we could find downstairs at our house, lined them up in our special OCD way, and counted all 72 of them.