Healthy Eating

"For the most part I'd have to say you're a pretty good mom," Parker told me the other night, "Except for one thing--the healthy eating! Stop! That's pretty much where the whole bad mom thing comes in."

This was after the chicken potpie dinner. I wouldn't even classify that as uber-healthy.

"Wait," Parker said, as I cut into the potpie, "I thought we were having pie for dinner."

"We are. Pie with chicken and vegetables."

Parker sighed, "I guess I'm eating cereal tonight."

"You have to eat at least one bite."

McKay is carefully examining her piece with a fork. "I see onions in here! You didn't say anything about onions. I hate onions!"

"You won't even taste them once they're cooked."

Unconvinced she begins picking apart her piece, pushing all the onions to one side. I pass her the bread.

"Is this wheat bread?"

"It's always wheat bread."

"Where's the Nutella?" she asks, looking across the table.

"In the pantry."

"I can only eat wheat bread if it has Nutella on it."

With much gagging, the one mandated bite is shoved down the kids' throats.

Today McKay is sick. Not very sick, just a headache and a slight fever. Just sick enough to get out of school. Just sick enough to get to spend the day lying on the couch watching hours worth of Barbie movies. Just sick enough to tell me, "I'm starting to feel better, but not better enough to do school."

So trying to be a nice mom, I make waffles for dinner--a McKay favorite. I do not make my normal healthy whole wheat and oatmeal waffles with fruit on top. (You're feeling Parker's pain right now, huh?) No, I make the best waffles in the world, Jenni Thomas waffles. (Jenni was my roommate for several years in college, and we ate these waffles pretty much every other day for two years.) Then to make dinner extra sweet, I try a new recipe for a buttery caramel syrup. There is nothing healthy about this syrup--butter, milk, corn syrup, sugar, and vanilla.

I take a bite and announce, "This syrup is AMAZING!" Then being an extra nice mom, I offer McKay a bite.

McKay lets out a scream. An actual honest scream. You would have thought I'd offered her an onion or a slice of whole wheat bread. "No," she cries, tears pouring from her eyes, "No, syrup! I'll eat my waffle plain." Because McKay is just sick enough to weep over waffles, I turn to Deacon.

"Try mommy's syrup," I said, shoving a fork towards his mouth.

His teeth clench shut, and he dodges my fork. Afraid I will shove a bite of food in his mouth if he opens it to speak, he shakes his head in the negative.

"Come on, it tastes like candy," I coax.

I get the teeth clench head shake.

"Eat it! It's so sugary. It's dripping in sugar! Don't you want this sugary goodness?" I move my fork closer to his mouth, and he backs up to the edge of his chair.

I'm just about to say, "You're not getting down from this table until you've had at least one bite of my candy-flavored syrup," when I remember something. I remember I'm force feeding my child sugar.

I can't wait until the weekend. I'm making caramel apples for a Halloween party, and so help me, those kids better eat them, or else....

Deacon Chatter

Deacon and I were driving to the grocery store yesterday.

"Do you want to listen to the radio or talk?" I asked.

"Talk."

"What are you thinking about?" I asked him.

"I want to climb on the roof of our house." He pauses. "Wait! I think that what be dangerous. Mom, would you sing "Book of Mormon Stories" with me?"

"O.k."

"You're singing it wrong! It goes 'When it rains, let it rain, righteously.' Sing it the right way, mom."

Deacon begins making silly noises and laughing at himself.

"Mom, you are my mother so you have to laugh at me."

"O.k." I attempt a fake laugh.

"Mom, you are my mom so you have to freak out with me."

"How do I do that?"

"When I yell, 'Freak out,' you freak out."

"How do you freak out?"

"I don't know, but I know how to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"Mom, I think there are trampolines in heaven."

"Oh?"

"Oh, heaven is a place on earth," he sings, doing a good imitation of Belinda Carlisle. Apparently that's the only line of the song he knows, because he continues to repeat it.

"What the heck?" Deacon asks, looking out the window, "Where are we?"

"At the grocery store."

"Grocery store--I love grocery stores! Let's go, mom!"

Watching Deacon Bowl

Our homeschool P.E. group spent the afternoon bowling today. Ten frames later I think I have Deacon's strategy down.

Step One: Grasp ball with two hands. Tell mother, "I'm strong."

Step Two: Casually walk up to the lane. Drop bowl on the floor. Lightly tap ball to get it headed in the right direction.

Step Three: Wait.

Step Four: Continue waiting. Lay on your tummy on the floor, resting your chin in your hands. (Top Deacon ball speed--.71 mph.)

Step Five: Watch ball knock over one or two pins.

Step Six: Yell, "I got a strike!"

Step Seven: High-five mother and shout, "Booyah!"

Step Eight: Return to seat and ask, "Is it my turn yet?"

Pied Piper

School is out today, which means my house is filling up with extra children. This afternoon I answered the door to add the fifth neighborhood child to my house. As he bounded up the stairs to join the other kids, Parker suddenly seemed to notice that his bedroom was a little more crowded than usual.

"Hey, why does everyone always want to play at my house?" he asked his friends.

"I don't know," one of them answered, "maybe because your house is always a mess."

If you want to be the Pied Piper of your neighborhood, you might want to give the messy house thing a try. It may backfire on you, though. A few years ago I was in the kitchen, when I overheard Parker ask his friend (an only child), "Why do you never want to play at my house?"

He replied, "There's always Cheerios on your floor. Your refrigerator is covered in papers, and your toaster oven is a piece of crap."

He's got a point.