Tonight was "Spirit Night" at a local Chick-fil-A for Victor's school. The idea is that you dine at the restaurant, which then donates 15% of the proceeds to the school. There is a contest element, too: the class that generates the most proceeds wins a prize (which can be redeemed at Chick-fil-A, of course).
We've never gone to spirit night. I'm just not that fun.
But it seemed to matter to Victor this time, so I told the boys that if they ate their dinners, which they had approached with some skepticism, they would earn dessert at Chick-fil-A.
Victor dove right in to his fajitas. "Wow, Mom. This is actually good!"
Zeke resisted.
I put three little pieces of chicken on his plate, but he did not eat it. Not as I tempted him with milkshakes. Not as we walked out the door. Not as I sat with him in the Chick-fil-A parking lot while Victor was inside, enjoying his milkshake with Jeremy.
Instead, he proposed that I eat his chicken for him. And he pleaded, "Please, Mom? Please can I go inside?"
It did not work. We were unmoved.
No chicken, no ice cream.
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