It was only recently that she discovered the joyful bliss that erupts when you bite into peanut butter smothered in chocolate. Since that discovery, Alexis has made a habit of asking to eat a piece of candy every day. She is specifically requesting a little tiny Reese's bunny from the depths of her still-in-business Easter basket. It's really not a problem since we're talking about all of maybe one inch of chocolate, but today she made the error of asking while I was still cooking dinner.

"You have to wait until after we eat dinner," I told her.

"But I don't want to," she replied.

I gave her The Look, The Look that made it clear that even thinking about asking again would be a surefire method for getting in Big Trouble. Alexis acknowledged that she understood the ramifications of The Look and went over to the fridge to arrange magnetic letters into words that only make sense in a 3-year old's head. I went back to cooking.

A few minutes later, Alexis walked into the living room. Seemingly to no one, she said, "I'll just pretend to eat it." It was almost a whisper, words most certainly not meant to get my attention.

"Alexis, did you take a piece of candy?" I asked. Mom always knows.

Startled, Alexis looked across the room at me and replied, "I just going to pretend to eat it."

"Mmmmmhmmmmmm," I replied as I shot her another patented The Look. I wasn't really worried about it. If she ate it, she ate it. If she didn't, even better. Picking battles is all I can do.

I watched from across the house as Alexis carefully unwrapped the peanut butter bunny, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to see if I was still paying attention.

"See! I'm not eating it!" she called out.

"You better not eat it until you eat dinner, Little Miss," I replied.

"I just pretend," she said. Again and again. It was as if muttering those words took her to another place, a place where that chocolate and that peanut butter could come together in beautiful harmony inside her little mouth.

She finally finished the unwrapping process and her chubby little fingers carefully spread out the shiny silver wrapper. She laid the little bunny on top of the paper and pushed it aside as she waited for her dinner.

I'm not exactly sure when she ate the bunny, but I do know she waited until after she finished her dinner. That, my friends, is the power of The Look.

Too bad it will probably stop working by the time she's a teenager.