Yesterday, I strolled into the kitchen and found George sitting at the counter, dutifully calculating three digit sums, while his little brother sat beside him happy as a lark gnawing on an apple, juicy drool rolling down his itty-bitty chin, chubby legs swinging freely as he dined.
I nearly dropped the dishpan.
This was the day I had been waiting for, the day I had been hoping for since Charlie's love affair with Lays BBQ chips first began. (You can read about the saga here, if you please.) The day when my baby would listen to his inner angel and dump those little munchy devils for something better.
I should have suspected that underneath all of that adorable innocence he might have a tendency to love those irresistibly crispy, salty, fried yum-yummies. I mean, I don't want to point any fingers at genetics, but his father has eaten a pb & j with BBQ chips almost every every evening of our married life - no matter what I make for supper. And, he can, because the last time he went up a jean size he was still trying to figure out what color of bow tie and cumber bun to wear to the prom. So, should it suffice to say, "Like father, like son" here?? I think so.
I'm not gonna lie, I love on occasional chippy-chip too. (Cheddar and sour cream, please.) Chips pair nice with a bottle of brew on a Saturday afternoon with some college sports action. Don't gasp. I live with 6 men, it was bound to happen. But, it's not like I eat them E.V.E.R.Y. day. I mean, c'mon, I have a health and fitness page on this blog. I actually care about helping others make good choices about what to eat, and I like to tell them what not to eat, too. (Please don't compare me to that other health "expert "who is also bossy when it comes to food, and who also has a new haircut, and likes to garden - except mine is real, and who also has opinions - though opposite of mine - about school lunches, and who adores her sometimes irritating husband.)
My baby does love fruit, but if I had to give him a choice at morning or afternoon snack time between Lays or a Pink Lady, I would always bet on the first option. Thankfully I am not alone in this fight. The big brothers have joined my crusade. They know the rules: 1. Keep the pantry door shut at all times. 2. If Charlie should break into the pantry, remove the goods from his chubby clutches immediately and carry him out gently.
Sometimes our reinforcements have failed, and I've considered a lock or an alarm system. My first mode of operation with "No Chip Charlie" was to put the enticers up high on a shelf, but then (I'm not going to name names here) a certain someone, who eats them every day, would indefinitely leave them out within reach. The next step was to completely quit buying them. Who needs them anyway?? All for one and one for all, right? No good. They mysteriously reappeared. And, the only thing I got from an interrogation of the guilty party was shoulder shrugging and sheepish looks. Whatever, Mr. 32 x 36!!
It was no use. I threw my hands up. I prayed a little, I cursed, a lot (but only while drying my hair or making a margarita with the blender since there are little ears around here). It wasn't up to me any more. It was up to Charlie (and his daddy too, but we already know that the Pope will eat meat on Fridays during Lent before my husband abandons his chippalicious habit.)
Then, it happened one day when I least expected it. My baby listened to his little inner angel and fell in love with the fruit. Bye-bye chips. We are never, ever, EVER getting back together (yes, I'm thinking Taylor Swift, here). Did I just say that?
Until next time, friends!!
Oops - P.S. I've been nominated for a little award over at A Knotted Life and would be overjoyed if you moseyed on over there to vote for me in the "Most Inspiring" category. Thank you!