Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
The parents will play. As a child, I always suspected that my parents were a little over-eager to send me to bed. Surely there was something really good going on that I was missing while sleeping away upstairs. However, every time I managed to sneak downstairs to spy, they were able to quickly hide the party balloons and toys and pretend to be watching TV instead.
Well, now that I've been a parent for a few years, I've realized that my suspicions were correct, as evidenced by last night. After returning from our respective mid-week callings, Brandon and I decided we needed a treat. So we heated up the oil, chopped up some apples, and made apple fritters. Originally we intended to make a half-recipe but the proportions were incorrect, so we made the whole recipe. And then we ate them. Without our children.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
I love a great many things. I love my children. I love my parents. I love my siblings. I love my husband. And I also love chocolate.
Recently, a good friend returned from Switzerland with some very delicious chocolate for me, the kind of chocolate that can only be obtained outside the United States, the kind of chocolate that comes in its own red cardboard packaging. I have saved and savored this chocolate, eating it slowly piece by piece on days where nothing else but chocolate will heal me.
A few days ago, I emerged from my room post-nap, to discover my husband at the computer, cheerfully chewing on large hunks of chocolate. From a red cardboard-covered package. Dismay. Shock. Horror. Betrayal. He knows that's my favorite chocolate! How could he? A note of hysteria entered into my voice 'You're eating my chocolate!!!,' I wailed.
My dear sweet husband laughed, and forgave me the complete and utter lack of charity. 'No, this is my chocolate,' he smiled, and showed me the package. Mine was safe. And the guilt over not wanting to share? It went away, mostly.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
As discussed previously in this blog, Kathleen and I have had struggles over eating habits. The issue has been simple: she doesn't want to eat what she doesn't want to eat and I want her to eat whatever I put in front of her.
As in any war, both sides assume that one stunning, quick victory will put the other side to shame and that will be that. Inherent in that assumption, however is that a quick, stunning victory is possible. Anyone who has ever spent more than five minutes with a two year-old realizes that quick is not even in the vocabulary.
What Kathleen has started realizing, however, is that no matter how many battles she can choose to stage, Mom will eventually win out, because Mom has fought many food battles in her own time and has now switched sides, bringing previous expertise and experience to the fight. And so the campaign is coming to a shuddering, sliding, slow end, as exemplified by this evening.
When presented with a vegetable timbale, Kathleen was excited. As soon as it touched her tongue, however, her face contorted in a look of consternation and disgust. But when her piece of strawberry jam-smeared toast was removed, she submitted to trading bites of timbale and toast until her portion was finished. And nary a bite was spit out. Two year-old wills were made to be broken.