This may come as a surprise to my wife, but I can't really complain too much about life around here. I have a roof over my head, shoes on my feet, and three square meals a day. The only thing I lack, in fact, is dessert.

The kids get what they want from Grandma, who lives around the corner. Most days, she'll stop by and leave a treat meant for the kids. Sometimes it's candy or pretzels, sometimes dollar store cookies. Every once in a while, she'll leave a tin of her homemade chocolate chip cookies. I only know about the homemade cookies because I'll come home from work, see the familiar tin, rush over and open it up to find that the kids have already cleaned it out. All that's left are a few crumbs and a napkin in the bottom.

Last week, though, all three kids were off at sports practice, and I managed, for once in my life, to get home before the little vultures had descended. There on the dining room table, just delivered, was a full package of Oreo cookies. Not dollar store cookies, not off-brand ones, but honest-to-goodness name-brand Oreos. I looked around frantically. The kids were expected home anytime. I knew that if they laid eyes on this treasure, there would be a cloud of Oreo dust and ripped cellophane, and then just crumbs. I went into the kitchen and looked around for a good hiding place.

I found it over the fridge. That's where we keep our cereal. There are a few boxes of sugared cereal, a couple boxes of Cheerios, and, on the end of the row, a box of some super-healthy gravel-like stuff that my wife bought months earlier in a fit of guilt. I'll call them Healthy Chunks.

Healthy Chunks contain three kinds of nuts, some grainy-looking clumps and enough fiber to keep a circus elephant regular. My wife tried one bite and tossed the rest in the sink. The box, though, was almost the exact same size as a package of Oreos.

I quickly emptied the cereal into the trash, where it dropped like a load of cement, and slid the Oreos into the empty box. I put it back on the fridge, in the middle of the row (smart, huh?) and admired my work. With its health claims of five kinds of fiber, it was the perfect kid-proof box. Then, just to see how well it worked, I picked up the box, slid out the Oreos, and smiled to myself. That was my mistake.

"What are you ..." I heard one of my daughter's whisper over my shoulder. This was followed by a gasp, then "... doing? Are you hiding cookies from Grand ..." she couldn't finish because my hand was clamped over her mouth.

"There's just two of us who know about this hiding place!" I hissed in my best Clint Eastwood imitation. "That means I know exactly how many Oreos are in that package! You get three a day if you keep it quiet. But you tell someone, anyone ..." And at this I drew my finger across my throat.

She thought about the deal in front of her, then nodded solemnly.

Just two days later, I was sitting in the kitchen with daughter No. 1 when daughter No. 2 came in, complaining she was hungry. Daughter No. 1, who doesn't really have a lot of sense, especially of self- preservation, piped up sarcastically, "Hey, why don't you try that cereal in the small box. It's supposed to be really, really good!"

I shot daggers with my eyes, only because I don't have any real daggers at hand when I need them. Daughter No. 2 looked around suspiciously, because everyone knows she hates cereal, then at the two of us glaring at each other. Her eyes widened and she wheeled, jumped up grabbed the box of Healthy Chunks, ripped open the top, and gasped. She glared at me.

"You! You were ..." she called out accusingly, "... hiding Oreos! Real Oreos!"

I looked around to make sure my 16-year-old son, who has been known to come running at the mere sound of a chip bag being ripped open, wasn't nearby.

"OK," I said, pointing back at her, a Clint Eastwood/Dirty Harry glint in my eye. "You get two Oreos a day if you keep quiet!" Daughter No. 1, who had negotiated three cookies a day, looked on with a sly smile.

I nodded. The three of us had a blood pact, a sacred bond.

That is, until I could find a new hiding place.

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