Show of hands: who eats unhealthy food in secret not in front of their kids? I do. I’m not afraid to admit it. My children are impossible some days on the eating front – I’ve written (complained, I’m sure) about it before. I’ve resorted to the following: “you can have [insert healthy food here] or nothing.” I’d say half the time the answer is “nothing.” Fine, be that way (I’m clearly the adult in this situation).
So color me not surprised when my daughter made a pathetic, but valiant, effort to convince me to give her something else to eat: “I want something that’s more delicious than healthy!” Too bad, kid (says the mean mommy ruining her kid’s life). Mommy prevailed this time, which isn’t likely to occur again for some time.
Sometimes it pays off to be the adult, even though most times, frankly, adulting is the worst. Being an adult means you can do things like sneak into the kitchen and eat junk food in the corner while your kids play nicely (for once) in the other room so they aren’t barnacles on your legs (for once). So during the five seconds of peace I had yesterday, I ate both peanut butter cups and sour cream and onion potato chips in the corner of the kitchen, with my head hidden behind the door, so they couldn’t see me. This behavior is disturbing on so many levels, but I frankly don’t care. Mommy needs a little treat, and some danger, sometimes (yes, this qualifies as “danger” in my life).
For the record, I took ten minutes out of my day to write this post from my dining room table. In these ten minutes my children did the following (in no particular order): ripped flaps out of lift-the-flap books, drew on the table, broke multiple crayons, attempted to eat crayons, took a stapler out of my work bin, played leap frog (a/k/a sat on each other), fought over a magnet block (we have a million of them; they needed the same one, obviously), pushed each other (I intervened), and attempted to sit on my lap and type with me (I have hopefully erased all of the resultant typos).
How I finished this is beyond me.