So. I was just sitting here, enjoying all the quiet, watching a DVR’ed episode of ABC’s Castle. Yeah, I know it’s largely predictable, and the sexual tension is nothing like on Moonlighting or anything, but I find it pleasantly escapist for those times when I want to watch TV but “nothing’s on.” Lately there are far, FAR too many of those kinds of evenings.
I was editing my last post, the one about Kate’s picture, and I got the munchies. I had gotten the kids in bed not long ago; hubby is out with a buddy at the Buck’s game; and I’m cozy in my favorite recliner couch, watching fun but silly TV, and the whole mood is interrupted by the driving thought: “need sugar now need sugar now need sugar now need sugar….” You get the point.
I didn’t have to look far. Under the Christmas tree — oh stop it! If you’ve at all been paying attention to all of my brutal, unadulterated honesty that I’ve shoved in your face since the begining of this blog, you KNOW I won’t have the tree down until at least mid week next week — sits a few of the girls’ gifts. Two of the items are edible: a small holiday Hershey’s chocolate bar, and a very VERY large box of Frosty Nerds. The girls found these items in their stockings on Christmas morning, and Claire hadn’t touched hers yet. (After you read this entire post, you’ll be left wondering where she might have learned such self-restraint.)
Now, before I divulge the shameful scene of me getting caught in the act, I feel I must reveal something about our household. Both hubby and I can be huge sugar freaks. I am not proud of this. I believe his curse is largely genetic — there is long-reaching proof of this, but in an effort to maintain a little of his privacy, I will not divulge the medical evidence to support my “genetic” theory.
Me, on the other hand, not so much genetic. I mean, I come from a long line of sweets lovers on my mom’s side, but I think that’s as much a conditioned response as any. The women on that side of the family were/are AMAZING bakers — good chefs, but REALLY wonderful bakers — and growing up with delectable baked goods every week does, in my special world of abrokencompass Logic (I think I should look into trademarking that phrase, don’t you think??) rapidly entices even stalwart sugar-haters into starting a courtship with frosting, homemade donuts, kuchens, etc. In other words, my particular flavor of sugar-freaked-ness is likely rooted in pure gluttony. Not proud of it, but I have to call it like it is, because if I did (wrote) it any other way, I know you’d be very, very disappointed in me.
You’re getting used to my propensity for digression and tangents now, aren’t you?
Anyway, I have this mostly unbendable rule: if the candy is the kids’, the grown-ups cannot eat it. We can dole it out, ensure it’s not inhaled all at once and is liberally seasoned with healthy, nutrious food; but we cannot eat it. Our kids, especially Claire, will offer each of us anything she has, and often tries to be very equitable in her candy distribution (whose child is this, anyway??). Kate? Not as much. Amy? Well, while it’s too soon to establish a firm trend, I’m pretty sure that, based on what I’ve see of her personality thus far, sharing any food she deems hers will not be, shall we say, intuitive for her.
Now, hubby does not and has never subscribed to my rule, no matter how bendable. I’m not exactly sure about his philosophy on this, and what ever it is or isn’t, I’m not judging. I’m simply pointing out that he will, with no particular concern, eat anyone’s candy, at any time.
But here’s the kicker: THEY DON’T CARE when HE does this. Oh, they may act a little steamed for a half a second, but usually voices remain calm and no tears ensue.
HOWEVER (and I know you can see this coming): This reaction does NOT apply to ME eating their candy. Oh no. I get the heartfelt, “how COULD you, mama!?” and “why would you hurt me this way!” and “for every piece of my candy you eat, you do realize, right, that another thread of trust between us is destroyed!! Gone, I tell you, Destroyed and GONE!”
What’s up with that?
But wait. Before you answer, here’s the latest installment of this particular serial. So, I’m craving the sugar, I see the Nerds, I think, what the heck, and I open the package. And start eating them, of course.
Lo and behold, who comes down the stairs so stealthily that I didn’t hear her? Claire. My firstborn comes around the corner into the family room where I’m sitting, looks at me with the Nerds box on my lap, and bursts into tears!! When she can finally speak, she tells me she cannot imagine how I could actually eat something that came directly from Santa? How COULD I?
Well, as much as I wanted to defend myself, I decided that I’d inadvertantly — maybe subconciously? — created yet another teaching moment. It was simply time to demonstrate how to take responsiblity for one’s actions, even when those actions are nothing to be proud of. I took my lumps and apologized several times. By the time her nightgown was completely tear-soaked, she was finally calmed down enough to be able to meander back to her bedroom.
Not sure if the lesson was fully… absorbed though. I mean, I think that for some reason, she was still embroiled in her sense of loss, her grief over losing the special candy, SANTA’S special candy, to her gluttonous mother. As she walked away, she was still shaking her head, looking down at her slippers as woefully as any 8-year-old you’ve ever seen.
Oh, the nightmares I’ll have tonight….
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