strryeyedgrrl: (Default)
Probably not my kid's first lie, but probably the most creative one to date that I've caught her on.

We have struggles with dinner. Often, she complains that she doesn't like the food or that it's too spicy, even when it's not. We don't play that game. You eat it or you can get up and get ready for bed. There's a small list of foods that Ari will eat without argument, but that's not what we eat every night. We already take pains to cater to some individual tastes of hers that I don't mind - she's not a fan of lettuce or mushrooms - however, that's about as far as we'll go.

We've had the discussion that by not eating what we've prepared for her, she's telling us that she doesn't appreciate the effort that's been put into the meal. We've had the discussion about needing good food to help you grow big and strong. We've had the discussion about how wasteful it is to throw away a perfectly good meal.

We've tried compromise ("just two more big bites"), we've tried reason ("it's chicken, you love chicken"), we've tried logic ("you watched me make it, you know I didn't add anything spicy"), we've tried singing songs from Yo Gabba Gabba ("try it, you'll like it"), we've tried bribery ("if you eat that piece right there, you can have ice cream and Pixy Stix for dessert"), we've tried outright frustration ("in the name of the Fonz, Ari, I'm so tired of having to throw food away because you refuse to eat").

It's a kid thing, I know. You don't have to tell me twice.

Tonight, though. Wow.

So Ron made some amazing chicken, potatoes and green beans. He made sure to pick out all the onions and mushrooms from the potatoes, put only about five or six chunks of chicken on her plate and a reasonable helping of green beans.

(By the way, those BirdsEye veggie steamers in the frozen section? AMAZING.)

She fought.

For a half hour.

Ron sent her to bed. Then he took off to his friend's house with the full understanding that I would try compromise once she came out of her room, which was inevitable.

She did, in her pajamas, and I offered to her that if she just ate the damned potatoes - every freaking potato bit on her Hello Kitty plate - she could stay up until her normal bedtime of 8pm.

It worked, at first. She finally tried one of the potatoes and actually decided that she liked it. Then she asked me about dessert. She had seen me, earlier, prepping strawberries for strawberry shortcake. I told her that eating the potatoes earned her a get-out-of-bed-free card, but that if she wanted to have dessert, she had to eat everything on her plate.

She ate the rest of her potatoes and decided she was done, then took her plate to the kitchen. Once she was in there, she asked me about dessert again. I reminded her what I'd said - everything or no dessert. She picked her plate back up from the kitchen counter and went back to the table. In my mind, I jumped a backflip. It was working!

On her way to the table, she dropped her fork. She put down her plate on the table and took the fork to the kitchen sink. Before she got there, though, she turned around and got her plate again. By this time I was distracted by the television as I tried to find Armageddon on the Netflix queue. (Shut up.) I was still aware of what was happening, though, even if I was like, "OMGSHINYBENAFFLECK."

She came back to the table and put her plate down. I looked at her plate. She looked at me. I looked at her plate some more, then looked at her.

"What?"

"Seriously?"

"What? I'm EATING, Mom."

"SERIOUSLY?"

You see, just because I was busy trying to satiate my desire to see Bruce Willis blow himself up* for the good of all mankind, it didn't mean that I hadn't heard the trash lid being opened and closed. And now, suddenly, her plate was free of the chicken that she'd refused all evening to touch.

"Bed. Now."

*headache*

* I typo'd and forgot to write "up" in that sentence. Certainly made for a much different ending to that movie, I tell you what.
strryeyedgrrl: (Default)
Arianna told me the most awesome story this morning. I didn't have a notepad, so I couldn't write it down. Instead, I asked her tonight to tell me about it again.

"Arianna, remember what we were talking about this morning on the way to daycare?"

"I told you about the Easter play!"

"You did! Can you tell me about it again? I don't remember."

"Well, it was about God. No, Jesus."

"Not Cheezits." This morning, when she said "Jesus", it had sounded like "Cheezits" to my coffee-less brain.

"No, Mom! Jesus!"

"Okay, okay, it was about Jesus. So what was the play about?"

"It was a story about Jesus. And there was some angels and Grandma was one of the angels."

"I thought they were fairies." This morning, there were fairies in this story.


Artwork by Adam Botsford, Man of Awesome.
"No, I was wrong. They were angels."

"Okay, so what happened in the story?"

"Well, Jesus was gone."

"He was gone? Where did he go?"

"Oh, he went to the future."

"The future? For real? How did he get there?"

"The angel put him in the future."

"Why did he go to the future?"

"Because people needed help in the future."

"Why did they need help?"

"Moooommmmm." At this point, she looked at me and rolled her eyes, like I was the world's biggest idiot for even daring to ask. "They were in trouble from a monster."

I gasped. "A monster?! Did the monster have a name?"

"Ricky Flame."

"Wow, that's some name." I was holding back giggles at this point. "What was the monster doing that put the people in trouble?"

"He was eating them."

"Oh no! What happened next?!"

"Oh, well, you know, Jesus took them out of the monster."

I asked her for more of the story, but she said that was it.

So, there you go. That's the Easter story, according to a five-year-old.

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strryeyedgrrl

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