Issue #1, the relaunch | Friday, October 9, 2026

Hey, it's Troy.

So we're back. If you were here for the old version, thanks for sticking around. If you're new, welcome. This is a newsletter about the most powerful word a dad owns, and no, it's not "Costco." It's "no."

Here's how my week went. It's October in West Michigan, which means the leaves are turning, every orchard within 30 miles has a two-hour line for cider and donuts, and the inflatable skeletons are back on the neighbors' lawns. On Sunday my wife came home from Costco with a bag of Halloween candy roughly the size of a toddler. Four hundred pieces. "For the trick-or-treaters," she said, in the exact voice she uses when she tells me the new throw pillows were on sale.

We hid it in the laundry room. Top shelf, behind the stain remover. Nobody in this house has gone near the stain remover on purpose in nine years. With this crew, that's a crime in itself. It was the perfect spot.

It lasted two days.

The Main Event: The Laundry Room Heist

Tuesday night I walk past the laundry room and hear crinkling. That crinkle. Every dad knows it. It's the sound of a fun-size wrapper being opened very slowly by someone who believes slow means quiet.

I open the door. My 10-year-old daughter is standing on the step stool, cheeks full, holding a Kit Kat like it's a smoking gun. On the dryer next to her is a neat little pile of wrappers, sorted by brand.

She looks at me. I look at her. And she says, with chocolate on her teeth, "I was checking if they were expired."

Honestly? Respect.

Then it all came out. She wasn't working alone. The 13-year-old was her lookout, paid in Reese's. The 15-year-old wasn't part of the operation at all. He'd found the bag on day one and had been quietly running his own side stash in his room, which I discovered when I followed a trail of Twix wrappers like a detective. My 23-year-old claims total innocence. When I asked him about it, he just shook his head and said, "Rookies. Behind the stain remover is the first place anyone looks."

Now, old me would've done one of two things. Cave, because it was funny (it was very funny). Or go full Dad Voice, confiscate the bag, and give a speech about trust that everyone would forget before they brushed their teeth. I've done both, plenty of times, over 23 years of kids. All either one teaches them is that Dad's "no" depends on what kind of mood Dad's in.

So this time I tried something else. I said, "No more tonight. But let's make a deal."

Here's where we landed. The Costco bag belongs to the trick-or-treaters. Period. But on Halloween night, when she comes home with her own haul (probably in a costume with a coat over it, because it's Michigan and it's usually in the 40s by dark), she picks her favorites, and anything she's willing to sell back to me, I'll buy for a dime a piece. The money goes in her bank. She can eat her candy or she can get paid. Her call.

You should've seen her face. She went from criminal to businesswoman in about four seconds. Immediately asked what a full-size Snickers goes for. (A quarter. I'm not made of money.) Then she asked if she could buy candy from her brothers at a nickel and sell it to me at a dime. I said no. I'm also a little impressed.

The teenagers, naturally, asked if the deal applied to them. Sure, guys. Same rates. The 15-year-old did the math out loud and decided his time was worth more. The 13-year-old is "thinking about it," which means he's going to negotiate.

She still didn't get to finish that Kit Kat. I kept the other half as a Dad Tax, which I believe is covered under state law. But she walked out of that laundry room with something kids almost never get from us: a reason to wait, and a choice that was actually hers.

That's the whole thing I want this newsletter to be about. "No" doesn't have to be the end of the conversation. Sometimes it's the start of a better one.

No of the Week

For when your kid asks for candy at 7:45 in the morning:

Steal it. She'll love it. (She will not love it.)

The Actual Lesson (I Promise It's Short)

Here's what I'm trying this month, and what I'd tell any dad standing in his own laundry room right now.

Say "no, but" instead of just "no." "No candy now, but you can pick two after dinner." Same answer, way less arguing. The kid hears a door instead of a wall. Works on a 10-year-old. Works on a 15-year-old too, he just won't admit it.

Make your no the same every day. If no means no on Tuesday but maybe on Thursday because you're tired, they'll just wait for Thursday. Kids are tiny lawyers. Teenagers are lawyers with a phone. They will find the loophole. Don't hand it to them.

Let them feel the trade-off. Eat it now or get paid later is a real choice, and it's the first money lesson I've seen actually stick. It's going a lot better than the time I explained compound interest at dinner. That went about how you'd think.

Where the Dimes Go

For the candy buyback we got her one of those clear piggy banks with separate slots for saving, spending, and giving. Here's the one I'd grab: the Money Savvy Pig. It has a fourth slot for "invest," and my daughter has already asked what the interest rate is. I told her it's zero, because I'm the bank. She said that's a bad bank. She's not wrong.

The clear part matters, even at 10. She can watch the save side fill up, and she's already got a goal written on a sticky note taped to the side. The give slot is going to the animal shelter. The spend slot is going to, and I quote, "not candy, obviously, I'll have candy."

We'll keep working on it.

Your Turn: Send Me Your Best "No"

Hit reply and tell me your best Halloween no. The smoothest dodge, the wildest kid negotiation, the time they won and you're still not over it. I'll feature my favorites in a future issue. First names only, or "a dad in Ohio" if you're hiding from your family group chat.

Bonus points if your kid out-argued you. We've all been there. Some of us live there.

That's it for this week. Go check your laundry room. I'm serious.

Talk next Friday, Troy

P.S. My wife just asked me where all the Reese's went. I said "No idea." Which, technically, is still a no. The 13-year-old's lookout fee has to come from somewhere.

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