An offer I couldn't refuse.

My kids can get an awful case of The Gimmies.

It started when they were pretty little -- when they were first learning to talk. We'd pass a McDonald's with a play land and I'd hear little voices (twins, remember?) from the back, asking, "Dah-nods?"

The Gimmes seem to ebb and flow in terms of frequency and intensity. Naturally, they ratchet it up near the holidays when the As Seen On TV Gimmies kick in, but for some reason, this summer has been particularly bad. The Gimmies appear on quick trips to the grocery or drug store -- and even at our local thrift store -- a store which, according to Crowbar, totally freaks him out.

Mark's and my response to The Gimmies is taken right out of The Apathetic Parent's Handbook, a book we intend to write someday. We meet The Gimmies with our own, using a "tough luck, kid" tone.

"You want that toy? I want my own talk show."

Generally, the kids get the idea, sighing and moving on through the aisle.

We all want things. But that doesn't mean we get them, right?

So yesterday, while driving the crew to day camp, The Gimmies began to creep into conversation.

"What's for dinner tonight?" asks The Deuce.

"Lasagna."

"Hey, I've got a great idea! Let's go to..." (insert name of our local overpriced, crappy pizza joint where unlimited play bracelets cost as much as a Smartcar).

When I deny the request, whining starts. Complaints that we never go there begin and then escalate into charges that we never do anything fun. (Funny how amnesia sets in so quickly, cancelling all recollection of last weekend's trip to the movies, family bike ride and friend's pool party.) For some reason, the girls were on a roll. They bitched and moaned all the way to camp, while Crowbar sat, suspiciously quiet.

We pulled into the camp parking lot and as I pushed the button to open the van's automatic sliding door, I commanded them to, "GET OUT!" only half-joking.

The girls reluctantly let me kiss them goodbye and then sulked their way inside.

Before hopping out, Crowbar addressed me in a quiet, almost thoughtful voice.

"I'd like to go to the zoo. We haven't been there in a long time. Can you take me to the zoo, please?"

His face was sweet and there wasn't the usual ugly tone associated with The Gimmies. And he wasn't playing me either. He was, quite simply, a sweet-faced 5 year-old who would like to be taken to the zoo.

I patted his head. My cold heart, hardened from the exchange with the girls, warmed momentarily and told him I'd see what we could do.

He hopped out and skipped up the walk to the building.

He was right. It's been quite a while since our last zoo trip. Despite having season passes, we've filled our weekends with home projects, dedicating the bulk of our precious free time to back-breaking labor, instead of play days.

And upon discussing it, we realized that we needed the play days even more than the kids, especially with Sweet Pea* on the way.

And so, over lunch, we planned and scheduled some play time this summer. A trip up north to Grandma's, two days at the water park and, of course, a trip to the zoo.

Now comes the challenge of convincing the girls that The Gimmies didn't get them these play days, but instead, a sweet, well-thought request, without the slightest hint of whining.

- - -

*We've learned that the baby we're expecting this fall is a little girl. Since near-inception, we've been calling the baby "Wingnut," but upon learning she's a girl, felt the need to soften it a little. So, Sweet Pea it is. For now. We'll see if a new pseudonym surfaces as she grows and reveals her personality to us.