I think it was my law school roommate and dear friend K who first told me about the upsell nod. When she worked as a waitress, she was instructed to upsell booze to her tables by nodding as she presented the drink menu. Her inquiry, "Would you like to hear about our famous drink specials?" would be accompanied by subtle nodding, and the hapless customers were supposed to nod along all the way through an extra round for the table.
Wow! Could persuasion be so simple? I tried it on Greg: "Do you want to order take out tonight [nod nod nod nod nod]?" He agreed, but I attributed it less to my maniac head bobbing and more because he knew the alternative would be Cheerios for dinner again.
Despite my doubts, I find myself using the technique on Baby C. "Ooooh, look! Yummy applesauce! You LIKE applesauce!" [Then I nod vigorously and shove in a bite, nod some more, and repeat the routine.]
Baby C is clearly on to me. Tonight, with bedtime imminent after a bath and two stories, she started to point her mouth--her sign for being hungry. She's been trying to postpone bedtime lately, and I was doubtful. "Are you really hungry?"
She NODDED. "Applesauce!" she said. Then she looked at me, smiled, and nodded firmly again. "Applesauce."
No, I didn't fall for it. But I am a little concerned that I'm out of tricks, and she's not yet two. I wonder what technique the restaurant used to get customers to order dessert?
Water Baby
(Blowing dust clouds off the keyboard.)
Hi-ho, folks. It's not-so-new mommy here after a few weeks when the effort of turning my quotidian activities into something fit for public consumption simply proved beyond my abilities or energy level. A nasty cold shared by all, stitches to Baby C's sweet little face, and a week-long, multi-leg trip back to the midwest will do that to a girl. We're home and on the mend, so let's pick up where I left off.
I believe that swimming is fun only when
(a) it is very hot, and
(b) I find myself next to a pristine body of water that is also
(c) predator-free.
Greg thinks it's fun to swim, period.
He decided to share his love of the water with Baby C, so he signed them up for Saturday morning swimming lessons. I made it clear that this would be HIS deal--I wanted no part of toddler wrangling in a high school locker room, or plunging into a urine-filled baby pool. Greg agreed that he would take care of everthing.
I decided to tag along to the first class... just in case. As we drove over, I asked Greg which bathing suit he'd packed for Baby C.
"Bathing suit? I have her briefs," Greg told me.
I pointed out that little girls don't wear swim briefs and asked for elaboration.
"I have the, um, the swim diaper." He said.
"Yeah, but they also wear bathing suits over their diapers. Remember, I pointed out where her bathing suit was?" I pressed.
Greg turned to me. "I didn't bring it." Long pause. "This is going into a blog, isn’t it?"
Hi-ho, folks. It's not-so-new mommy here after a few weeks when the effort of turning my quotidian activities into something fit for public consumption simply proved beyond my abilities or energy level. A nasty cold shared by all, stitches to Baby C's sweet little face, and a week-long, multi-leg trip back to the midwest will do that to a girl. We're home and on the mend, so let's pick up where I left off.
I believe that swimming is fun only when
(a) it is very hot, and
(b) I find myself next to a pristine body of water that is also
(c) predator-free.
Greg thinks it's fun to swim, period.
He decided to share his love of the water with Baby C, so he signed them up for Saturday morning swimming lessons. I made it clear that this would be HIS deal--I wanted no part of toddler wrangling in a high school locker room, or plunging into a urine-filled baby pool. Greg agreed that he would take care of everthing.
I decided to tag along to the first class... just in case. As we drove over, I asked Greg which bathing suit he'd packed for Baby C.
"Bathing suit? I have her briefs," Greg told me.
I pointed out that little girls don't wear swim briefs and asked for elaboration.
"I have the, um, the swim diaper." He said.
"Yeah, but they also wear bathing suits over their diapers. Remember, I pointed out where her bathing suit was?" I pressed.
Greg turned to me. "I didn't bring it." Long pause. "This is going into a blog, isn’t it?"
The Day the Triscuits Died
Overheard at Mexican restaurant...
"Tristian, have you eaten any of your chicken?"
"Tristian, stop eating crackers and eat your chicken."
"Tristian, that's it. If you don't eat your dinner now, that's IT for Triscuits FOREVER!"
"Tristian, have you eaten any of your chicken?"
"Tristian, stop eating crackers and eat your chicken."
"Tristian, that's it. If you don't eat your dinner now, that's IT for Triscuits FOREVER!"
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