World's Greatest Mom

My daughter was hungry. Wait, no, she wasn’t just hungry – she was HANGRY! Hungry + Angry = Hangry. Know what I’m saying? An already irritable kid, stressed out from cooperating and behaving and waiting just a little longer to get home for lunch or dinner is a ticking time bomb. Tick, tick, tick….KABOOM!

"I’M SO HUNGRY WHY DON’T YOU JUST LET ME EAT? I’M DYING HERE BECAUSE YOU NEVER FEED ME ANYTHING AND I’M GOING TO PASS OUT ON THE FLOOR!”

It was like that. It was embarrassingly hilarious, because although other parents have totally walked a mile in my moccasins, most of them having stretched it just a bit too far, my smug ass was about to learn a big, fat lesson.

A lesson?

Yes. A lesson. I’ll explain, but first I want to let the over-reactors who read my blog know that I don’t use food as a reward or punishment, but sometimes there are lessons to be learned, and those lessons involve fucking food. And so, although it’s cool to think what you want and draw any conclusions your judgy mcjudgerson head needs to draw, just know that you are jumping the fucking gun if you are all a flutter with fear and judgment at this point. My kid is alive and kicking, and along with her momma, a whole lot wiser after yesterday’s lesson.

I was specific – “We are going shopping for school clothes, shoes and running a few other errands. Please finish your breakfast so that you don’t have a hungry tummy when we are out.”

The kid understood and proceeded to shovel two waffles with whipped cream in her face, chugged a glass of water and chased it all with five fistfuls of blueberries before claiming that she was still hungry. She gobbled down another waffle, a spoonful of peanut butter, and a glass of orange juice. She looked at me and flashed an adorable grin and released a long, loud belch.

“Excuuuuuuuuse me!” she yelped. “Did you hear that?” she did her best Buddy the Elf impression. She rocked it.

“People in China heard that,” I replied. “Are you full? Satisfied? Ready to roll?

“Yep. Full. Satisfied. Ready to roll. But I hope I don’t have diarrhea later because I hate having loose stool when I’m shopping.”

She hates having loose stool when she’s shopping? Who is this kid?

“Did you just say ‘loose stool?’” Where does she get this shit (pun intended)? I couldn’t stop laughing. I was crying from laughing so hard. Sobbing.

What was so funny? She wanted to know.

“I was thinking of something funny. You wouldn’t understand. Pack a snack because I’m not getting you anything while we are out,” I told her.

I’m frugal as fuck. Fast food is expensive and would probably give her the diarrhea. Why buy loose stools?

“I don’t need a snack. I’ll be full for a month. I’m sloshy. I can barely walk, see?"  She demonstrated her sloshy walk.

“Last chance, sister.” I gave her another chance.

Eye roll, sloshy walk.

Fine.

So off we went. It was fun too! We ran errands and accomplished every task on our list and then some. I suggested going home for lunch, but she wanted to keep going! Alrighty then! I pulled a water bottle and a GF granola bar out of my bag and had a little snacky-poo.

“Want a bite?” I asked her.

“I told you. I didn’t need a snack! I’m sloshy!” She huffed and went on poking around the store.

Whateva! More for me! Remember, you ain’t getting nothing until we get home!” I shoved the rest of the snack in my face and slugged the water. Delicious. Hit the spot. I could certainly keep going for another hour or two! We went from here to there and there to here, having a fine old time. And then, I sensed a disturbance in the force. Tick, tick, tick, the bomb was about to go off! Why the holy fuck did I inhale that granola bar? I knew better.

KABOOM!

She couldn’t help herself. She was having a hanger-attack, unable to control her wobbly legs and low blood sugar psychosis. She flopped down on the floor of Old Navy, no longer sloshy full. She was rag doll droopy and “dying of starvation.” I had just finished cinching a pair of super skinny jeans to the last possible loop so they didn’t fall off her twig of a body when she walked, and my ass was all snug in my shorts. I really could have save some of that granola bar. After all, she’s just a kid! She doesn't plan ahead or think about later. In her mind, she didn't need a snack because she was full and that makes perfect sense when you are nine years old. But nine isn't too young to learn a lesson either. GAH! What to do?

Was this the time for a lesson? Would she learn from this? I was hungry too, but I told her that I wasn’t going to buy shit while we were out. I’ve been trying to teach my kids about delaying gratification and being careful with money.

Blah, blah, bullshit!

Role modeling sucks!

She was hangry as all get out.

“Please can we just get some of the World’s Greatest French Fries?” she begged.

What should I do? I like to say what I mean and mean what I say. How else does a parent earn street cred with their kid? But then I realized that it was just fucking French fries and I wasn’t taking a hit off a bong and telling her that drugs were bad and not to do them.

So we got the fries. She told me that I was the World’s Greatest Mom. The lesson? Don’t overthink every goddamn thing. Your kids don’t.

The end.

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