Imagine hearing "cookie?" in various intonations as you are trying to get through the grocery store. Each item tossed in the cart was met with a heartbroken plea of "cookie?" After eating his two (mom-approved, packed at home) graham crackers by the time we were rounding the corner to the cereal aisle (translation: less than 10 minutes in the store), his pleas turned into a full on scream fest. No, no I won't give you a "cookie." Note: "cookie" means anything that he thinks he should be eating that is not a vegetable or Goldfish cracker.
Julian, sweetheart, this has got to stop.
I can't remember the last time I had a meal where you didn't start screaming at some point. It could be because your plate is empty (this is not shocking, given the rate at which you throttle food into your little mouth). It could be because you have set aside all of your vegetables in the cup holder and are without anything desirable. It could be because you want what I'm having. God help us all when it's time for you to get wiped up. Sweet son, you sure know how to wail when the "end of meal" signal (i.e. a washcloth) appears.
You are not starving, I assure you. On the contrary: you eat more than I do. You do not need to look in the trash throughout the day, looking for cookies. I'm sure that the first, sweet, forbidden taste of peanut butter via an old sandwich crust was delicious, but for the love of sanitation, please, stop this behavior.
I rue the day when you can actually open the door to the pantry. You can be found down there, trying to your hardest to get in. Should you hear the door open, or even *think* that I am walking down the hallway to open the pantry, I can be sure you will be hot on my heels, hoping for a little snack.
Please, Child.
I have given you things at this age that I did not give to your younger brothers, just for a little peace. Half of my turkey sandwich? Have at it. PB&J? Why not. Have a chip or three.
Just please stop screaming.
I'm running out of crackers.
No comments:
Post a Comment