So the other day, my kids were torturing me. Max has developed the habit of asking, "What's he doing?" or "What are you doing?" ALL day long. Maeve has become overly sensitive to Max's attention and screams when he enters her personal space (approximately a three foot diameter around her body). So I get a lot of headaches, and then I feel sorry for myself, and then I rummage through the pantry and find Oreos.
I envision sitting on the couch -- alone -- and taking my sweet time while eating my Oreos.
But it doesn't end up as I had hoped. Both of the kids were screaming for cookies. Why can't children ask in a soft, monotone voice: "Hey Mommy, I'd like an Oreo too please"? Instead they screech and carry on as if they were chickens during roundup time. As if I might run away to Idaho with the Oreos and never come back to give them one.
I know this might sound weird, but I always smell a freshly opened bag of Oreos. It's part of the routine, I suppose. The smell is kind of like mud and vanilla and salt.
We sat on the couch and I doled out cookies to the beggars.
No, actually they were all MY cookies. But of course I didn't say that (not this time anyway). Instead I said, "You need to ask nicely for a cookie or I will take them to another boy or girl who can ask nicely. Or even a squirrel who is having trouble finding acorns. Or a worm. Or an ant."
Max said, "I want to feed the squirrel. And worms and ants. And... Spiders too!"
Well that backfired big time. How good are those miniature people at finding loopholes in conversations that lead to fun stuff like earthworm hunting? Very good, I say. Especially Max.
I imagined us doing that for a moment, digging in the cold December earth, searching for an earthworm or an ant. Delivering to them a chocolate wonderland and creamy goodness.
But don't fret, we did not go to that extreme. I distracted them with a Tinkerbell movie. I had Oreos in my hands ready for them to ask for more. I decided to wait to eat my Oreo(s).
I watched the kids eating their Oreos and became quite disturbed. They weren't honoring any tradition. They were not treating the Oreo with the respect it deserves. Max was pretending that he was Cookie Monster (whom I dislike because of his impulsive need to destroy people's cookies).
Maeve has gotten her cookie apart but was now digging her finger into the vanilla filling as if it was a repulsive substance to put between two chocolate cookies.
I also started to notice crumbs, and lots of them. I don't deal well with crumbs. I don't mind somewhat larger items of food that have been dropped because I can easily pick them up. But crumbs require me getting the vacuum out.
How did my idea of sitting -- alone -- on the couch and eating an Oreo per my four step process turn into my kids fighting over who can hold the Oreo bag and subsequently pulverize the cookies?
Well I could answer that questions in many ways, but the bottom line is that ever since that quick moment in the shower four and a half years ago, I pretty much gave up my right to do anything alone anymore, including eating Oreos.
Or vacuuming.
Or peeing.
Or shitting.
Or showering.
Or cooking.
But that's okay. In the end it's all worth it. In the end it's all worth it. In the end it's all worth it. Yeah, I know I wrote that three times in a row. Just trying to convince myself.
How do you eat your Oreos? Even better, do you share your Oreos or are you a closet Oreo eater (there is no shame!!!!)?
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