It normally happens on a day just like today. The sun is shining; the birds are singing; and all is right with your little world.
You open the fridge and notice a small carton of strawberry yogurt – a healthy, delicious little indulgence. And just as you settle on the couch to enjoy your snack, it happens.
The Treat Burglar appears.
Now there are a few things I signed up for when I became a mom. I’ve traded sleeping in for… well, not sleeping at all, I’ve swapped patios for play dates, and have vague memories of pleasant, easy going shopping excursions.
But there’s one thing I didn’t explicitly agree to – even though I definitely should have known better – and that’s sharing my food. My toast. My French fries. My ice cream. Everything is shared. Or stolen, I suppose.
It’s not like I don’t provide goodies for my boys – I continually offer them the same breakfast, lunch and dinner that I am eating, and am satisfied that I provide healthy choices and a variety of foods. (Sometimes the choices aren’t as healthy, but everything in moderation, right?) Yet for some reason, food just doesn’t seem to taste as good unless it’s off mommy’s plate.
And so almost every time I have anything remotely delicious – I generally have to dole out most of it to two whining little boys. Orange juice. Banana bread. Even broccoli, for crying out loud! Can you believe The Treat Burglar swiped a floret of broccoli?
Now don’t get me wrong – I’m not selfish; I am thrilled that my sons, who are normally picky eaters, are happily downing quality calories. But sometimes I think, “Why can’t I enjoy an uninterrupted meal? Why can’t I have my cake… and eat it too?!”
Then I feel incredibly guilty because moms shouldn’t feel this way; we should happily sacrifice anything for our child, and that includes cinnamon cookies and shrimp marinara.
So I’ve started to hide my treats. I crouch behind furniture to savour a gummy worm. I pour juice into a striped glass so they can’t tell what’s inside. I cough while opening the fridge, carefully picking grapes straight from the bowl.
Anything, but anything, to avoid The Treat Burglar.
Surely I’m not the only one who feels this way. Please tell me there are other mothers out there who cringe when their child sticks a finger in their banana pudding. And maybe it’s not your kid. Maybe it’s your boyfriend, or spouse, who is The Treat Burglar.
What food are you unwilling to share?