“That should last them until, like, 10:15.”
That’s what I said after cleaning up a solid Sunday breakfast at 9:30. At 9:30 a.m. And I meant, 10:15 a.m. when I said that. Because, I was being sarcastic.
Three little maniacs had just polished off eggs, bacon, bananas and toast. And I was kidding about the 10:15 bit. A little. I was off by about three minutes.
“I’m hungry…” I heard at about 10:18. “Can I have a pop tart?”
Oh my everything. Seriously? The breakfast dishes are still in the sink, which is the equivalent, in my opinion, to someone pillaging belongings before the body’s cold.
Fifteen minutes later a tiny voice approached, knowing she should be quiet about it.
“Mom, I’m hungry,” she said, her mouth barely moving, now that it’s been a full 60 minutes since she ate. “Can I have a banana?”
I reminded her that she ate them all, about an hour ago. Which based on the hunger she thought she felt, must have seemed to her like an eternity.
“Cinnamon apples?” she offered.
What actually happens to food in children? They didn’t go run a marathon after breakfast. They didn’t lift weights or build a house or plow a field. They watched a little TV, pissed and moaned with each other about how mean I am for not letting them eat again, called each other a couple names, and then asked for more food.
Nobody even pooped! Like, where does the food go?
Why, for the love of everything, aren’t they full? Why must they eat constantly?
They can’t at school. I mean, unless I’m missing something. What will they think of adulthood, when we go HOURS, multiple hours, without eating. It will no doubt be paralyzing.
No, you can’t have a coke at 11:30. No, you can’t have the other pop tart. No, you can’t have lunch at 11 because I JUST FED YOU A HUGE BREAKFAST 90 MINUTES AGO!!!
And now they’re just standing in front of me, staring. Waiting me out. With that face. One even just suggested, “There should be two lunches.”
They can wait. I’m busy googling “does being stubborn/whiny/persistent burn calories?”