I could hear the sound of laughing coming from The Girl's room. Now was my chance.
Creeping down the stairs to the kitchen, I stayed as silent as humanly possible, and -even more silently- I cracked open the fridge and freezer. With the stealthiness of a ninja cat, I grabbed a soda and the ice cream.
I listened again. No change. Still playing nicely, still laughing.
I dished up a bowl of ice cream and cracked open the soda. Victory was almost…
“Whatcha doin’ mom?”
“Can we have some too?”
It never fails. If I had an MnM for every time my attempts to selfishly scarf down junk food were thwarted by the kids . . .
Well, I’d still be lacking in the MnM department because they’d want those, too. And they do! In our house we have a glass jar of MnMs. We keep it in a cabinet way up high. If I had a nickel for every time I quietly attempted to sneak one and was thwarted . . . For some reason, those kids that tune me out on a regular basis can hear the sound of an MnM tinkling against a glass jar from six miles away.
What is it about kids that they are oblivious to the sound of their own name -or you staring them directly in the eyes and speaking DIRECTLY to them- but they suddenly acquire bat sonar the second a you try to grab a snack? Day in, day out, the words “What did you say?” and “I didn’t hear you” fill my home, but the moment I’m about to test the theory that Snickers really satisfies, my children have the heightened sense of a pack of bloodthirsty wolves on the trail of a wounded mountain goat.
I know that sharing is caring, but there’s also something just as equally important to be said about the word “mine”.
As moms, we give of our time, our hearts, our sanity, our patience, our focus- our everything. Is it so much to ask that this fun size pack of Skittles stay mine and only mine?
I get it. From the dawn of time, God gave us these little creatures to love, care for and to feed, lest they waste away into nothingness. But really? My cheesecake too?
So, being the responsible, loving mom I am, I’ll generously give up my last few french fries if God thinks it will help stave off malnutrition.
But, tonight, my dreams are mine, and I will dream of that one far off glorious day when I won’t have to divvy up my stash.