You are now looking at the Future CEO of Lays Potato Chips!
I knew we should never have given him a chip off of our plate...
It was a moment of weakness. I gave it to him to stop the whining. A wee bit of pacification all for the sake of being able to keep a little adult conversation going, because mommy needed 7 seconds of big people talk. Big mistake.
For Charlie, that chip was love at first bite.
Of course it back-fired. Duh, Susan. He just wanted more. It's like they say on their darn commercials, "Bet ya can't eat just one!" I want to say, "Oh, ya? In your face man, I totally can." NOT! He just whined louder, and pretty soon everyone is givin' the kid chips 'cause we all want to finish the conversation. Trying to talk with a whining child at your feet is like conversing on the phone in the middle of a parking-lot filled with barking dogs and jack hammers. What is the point???
Let's just pile a little bit of guilt on to the "there's never any adult conversation in my life" drama, shall we?? I don't think that Charlie's brothers even had a crumb of junk food before turning 3. I had my oldest son convinced that raisins are candy until he was 4. Now I'm Mrs. Permissive. Mrs. Relaxed. Go ahead, consume the bag of chips while mommy chats, it's no biggie!
Then there's my 80/20 rule. It started out 90/10 and has slowly crept downhill due to peer pressure, I mean child-to-mother pressure. This little rule (when enforced) means that you eat healthy 80% of the time and the other 20% of your diet is wiggle room. But, I haven't run the wiggle room by Mrs. Obama yet. I'm anticipating a tax hike if she ever found out about our chip addiction.
I blame this entire diet manifestation on my husband. Ever since we were blissfully married 12 years ago, he has a nightly ritual of making for himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a side of BBQ chips and a huge glass of milk for a "snack." For those of us with a metabolism a shade faster than a snail, that would be considered a meal. He makes his "snack" and I eat a chip or two off of his plate. Well, there was that one pregnancy (which one, I can't recall) that I craved salty yum-yums for 6.2 of the 9 months that I was preggo. Unfortunately, that craving didn't go away, and now for whatever reason, it's turned into a chips and icy cold beer craving.
I'm ruined. And, so is my baby. Way to go, Steve. Way to ruin us.
Now we need chip therapy.
I caught him again just yesterday, 8:30 a.m. no less. Why he thinks he needs a side of chips with his Cheerios, I don't know. I JUST DON'T KNOW!! Well, yes I do. He's genetically programmed to love those things. A double whammy from both of his parents. We didn't give him Olympic speed or strength, just passion. Passion for chips.
Dragging that big bag of fried goodies around apparently takes effort. A little rest on a pile of stuffed animals and he still won't let go of the bag. I'm going to have to start calling him Smeagol from The Lord of the Rings. My Precious! If you watch it you will understand how true this is! In fact, he has also snuck bags of pretzels and pita chips, after which he takes a bite and proceeds to dump them on the floor and smash them with his little feet, because they taste like cardboard compared to his beloved Lays. Will we also need anger management with our chip therapy?? I'm doomed!!
The bag is as big as he is. Watching him squat down so that he can reach the bottom takes some skill. This cracks me up!
Thou who leavest open the pantry door shall be punished by judicial authority of the mamma, and shall be deprived of potato chip delights for the remainder of his existence under her roof. No matter how loud thou dost whine, thou shalt never have
my a chip ever again!!
(A little disclaimer for any of you who actually think I let my baby walk around all day with a bag of chips: I DON'T. HE DOESN'T. Mkay??)
Have a beautiful weekend, my friends!!