A Cookie Kind of Day

In the Barlow household we are pretty strict about sugar consumption. I do not throw out candy like a float in the local parade: in the middle of a hot day -BAM- a surprise from the sky. I do however believe sugar in its purest form can be heaven sent when it becomes the object for which my I have my kids' full attention.
Today London and Madelyn each ate a cheese sandwich and a container of yogurt in less than an hour flat. I mean, slow down children your esophagus can't handle that kind of speed. The girls only paused for 20-minute intervals that included what I could have only imagined were triathlons with stair races, couch jumping, and the final event: hopping on once foot while singing at the same time. Typical lunchtime. But the kicker today was that burned into the girls' memory was the package of rainbow chocolate chip cookies they had chosen at the store the night before.
Maddie finished her last drop of yogurt with one satisfying gulp. As promised, out came the rainbow cookies, and because I was in a particularly good mood, one for each hand. I could tell by the way she savored her treat it was worth enduring any disgustingly healthy lunch. Then, it was London's turn, and just like that my living room was silent for three full minutes.
Until, the sound of Madelyn's entire mouth full of cookies, barely squeaked out my least favorite sound, "MORE?"
I prepared myself to fight to the death, which usually happens when you deny Madelyn, well anything. As expected, there were words. Kicking, screaming, tantrums, and finally, Madelyn's wild card, the ultimate of big guns.

"YOU BROKE MY HEART!!"

"Oh Maddie that is dramatic," I said and went back to my lunch, unswayed, bracing myself for the volcano eruption that would spew hot lava over my feet and my conscience. Tempers that day were predicted to reach boiling point.
But then a little voice came up from behind me, which was quite disturbed by Maddie's attempt at a gut-wrenching guilt trip. Yittle Yondon's sweet voice, "I don't yike it when Maddie's sad."
And then, a couple of minutes later, my London girl came back with a big rainbow-lipped smile.

"I fixed Maddie's heart,"

she said so giddily I had to peek around the corner to see how she could have possibly managed the feat in just one swoop. Sure enough, she had given Maddie her entire cookie, the one I had just barely placed in her right hand. And in the simple act had restored Madelyn's heart, peace of mind, not to mention song and dance skills, to normal. The thunderstorm directly over my kitchen had vanished.
As I looked at my daughter so proud of herself, my heart tripled in size. With the familiarity of a summer parade, that savory, sweet little moment landed in my lap as if from heaven. The feeling that came with it was worth all of the sluggish days in between when my children are not playing so nicely. And just like that, I retracted my imaginary plans that afternoon to run away from home.
London went on with her playing, not giving much thought to how she had single handedly altered the course of hurricane Madelyn. To her it was just a cookie. Maybe it really is just that simple.