Monday, June 16, 2014

More Food Fights

Cassie, her N & K, my B and G and I visited family that live two and a half hours away this weekend.  We were celebrating our cousin's birthday.  Eva lost a valiant battle against lymphoma last year and Saturday was her birthday.  While at the hotel, a random fellow traveler complimented Cassie on how well behaved the children were.  I'll wallow in that for a moment.

Later, G made me earn my Parenting in Public Badge. 

At Mellow Mushroom, I cut his cheese pizza into bite-sized pieces at his request.  He informed me that he did not eat "strings".  I explained that the strings were actually cheese, but he did not believe me.  Then he suggested that the some of the pieces were not small enough.  After I cut each big piece into smaller pieces and de-stringed every morsel, he lost himself in an extravagant meltdown.  Apparently another slice of pizza would not suffice.  I was to magically reconstruct the original piece then cut it the specifications that were in his mind.  Luckily we were in a party of about twenty people and we were seated on the patio.  I picked him up and swayed until cake was served.  Hey, we were out of town.  This was not the time for battles. 

Red did not agree. 

Breakfasts were fine at the hotel.  Most meals eaten where our large family gathered, however, entailed crocodile tears, shrieking demands which I could not decipher, and some time separated from the family.  He did not want pizza, sliced or cut up, sitting next to Uncle Hans nor near the adorable Baby Ruby.  He did decide to eat some yogurt.  He also ate some cake (big surprise).

Peanut butter and jelly on a roll?  It was awesome until I cut it exactly how Grandma had cut it the day before.  He lost it when I "broke the bread"--which I only learned after I'd calmed him down after a twenty minute time-out in the "Royal Bedroom" at Aunt Hildie's.  I derma-bonded the risen crust to the bread inside with jelly and then he consumed it. 

What's the best part about these fights?  First, they keep me on my toes.  Second, they make me really appreciate my family.  They ignored G when he threw his fits, then carried on when he returned.  Years ago, I'd worry if others were judging me.  They've all been through this many times before, and they love me and G just the same.  They know he isn't a full-fledged brat; he's just testing...and losing, if we we're keeping score.  

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Kid Cuisine

I mentioned in my last post how much I cherish sleep.  I love to sleep.  I sleep in on Saturday and Sunday mornings as my children rot their brains with video games (B) and cartoons (G).  If I want to sleep really late, I stock the snack cabinet with a bag or two of powdered Donettes. 

There were no Donettes last weekend.  G woke me up with, "Hey, Mama, how do I make my own Peanut Butter Jelly sammich again?"  Note: he doesn't.  The kid is four.  No way am I ready for the biohazard that would be my kitchen if he was allowed access to the sticky of both peanut butter and jelly.  Also, G with a knife?  Yeah, that wakes me up right away. 

This weekend, I screamed for Big Brother to make it.  My bedroom is adjacent to the kitchen so I could hear the conversations between the two. 

G: Not too much peanut butter.  It's too hard to chew if you use too much peanut butter.  B!  I said not too much peanut butter!  B!

B: All right!  I know how to make a sandwich, G.  Just let me do it. 

After rustling, crinkling and clinking, B must have passed the sandwich to Little. 

G: Hey!  Where's the jelly?

B: I didn't know you wanted jelly!  You didn't say!

Me (roaring from the comfort of my bed): I asked you to make him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!  Of course he wanted jelly!

G:  I'm not eating this.  I need jelly.

B: Well, I can't put the jelly on now.  If I take the top off, it'll break!  Just eat it. 

After a bit of debate, B made G a second sandwich.  When Josh stumbled out of bed a few minutes later, he saw Little with a sandwich in each hand and no plate.  He let loose on that for a minute, then got the kid settled in front of the tv with his breakfast sammiches on a proper plate. 

Ten minutes later, G snuck in my room to whisper, "Hey guess what?  I think I like the one without the jelly better."

That, my friends, is why it took me twelve hours to get ten hours of sleep this past Friday night.