Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Can't Say "No"
I don't recall ever seeing a bag of potato chips in my childhood home. As a girl, I treasured summer days when I'd run next door for lunch with my best friend. There, in a corner of the pantry, sat an enormous golden cannister of Charles potato chips. My appetite for them was insatiable, their salty crackle a perfect foil for a tuna sandwich and a cold glass of milk. In my teen years, my flirtation with Charles gave way to a serious affair with Ruffles. I'm still hooked. I only see Ruffles a couple of times a year, but every time, I embarass myself around that red, white and blue bag.
Several decades ago, I recall being told that the secret to remaining faithful in marriage was never to put yourself in a situation where you would be able to cheat. So like my mom before me, I don't keep chips in my house. I do it so my kids can't gorge on junk food. And neither can I.
Every other Tuesday, my playgroup gets together for dinner. (I started to say "my kids' playgroup," but the truth is, the moms preserve the group for our own sanity.) When the weather cooperates, you'll find us at a park. But thanks to our soggy summer, we recently found ourselves at a bowling alley. My memories of childhood bowling are pocked with frustration and the visceral THUD of gutterballs. But bowling alleys have come a long way in 30-something years. Retractable rails now run the length of the lane, so that even a 3-year old can send a ball caroming from side to side until it makes contact with pins. An added benefit of all that weightlifting and running and sliding and jumping is that my kids usually fall asleep on the ride home.
Yep, on rainy days, bowling rocks.
So there we were at the bowling ally, awaiting pizza delivery for dinner, when someone nearby spilled a bag of Cheetos. I didn't see the accident. Didn't hear it. Just turned to find both of my children crawling around on their hands and knees...
eating Cheetos...
as fast as they could stuff them into their mouths...
OFF THE BOWLING ALLEY CARPET...
looking like crazed little drug addicts.
Surely, wherever you might have been, you heard me screaming. And trying to resist the urge to pour disinfectant into their flourescent orange mouths.
They lived.
But the incident got me thinking about my approach. You might call it "abstinence only." They might not be able to eat crap when they're at home, but when the opportunity arises? Well, they haven't learned a thing about self-control.
I have plenty of friends who've chosen a different path. Chips and candy and ice cream around the house. Their children partake some. And then they stop.
I wonder what that would look like?
I'd have to learn myself, too.
Several decades ago, I recall being told that the secret to remaining faithful in marriage was never to put yourself in a situation where you would be able to cheat. So like my mom before me, I don't keep chips in my house. I do it so my kids can't gorge on junk food. And neither can I.
Every other Tuesday, my playgroup gets together for dinner. (I started to say "my kids' playgroup," but the truth is, the moms preserve the group for our own sanity.) When the weather cooperates, you'll find us at a park. But thanks to our soggy summer, we recently found ourselves at a bowling alley. My memories of childhood bowling are pocked with frustration and the visceral THUD of gutterballs. But bowling alleys have come a long way in 30-something years. Retractable rails now run the length of the lane, so that even a 3-year old can send a ball caroming from side to side until it makes contact with pins. An added benefit of all that weightlifting and running and sliding and jumping is that my kids usually fall asleep on the ride home.
Yep, on rainy days, bowling rocks.
So there we were at the bowling ally, awaiting pizza delivery for dinner, when someone nearby spilled a bag of Cheetos. I didn't see the accident. Didn't hear it. Just turned to find both of my children crawling around on their hands and knees...
eating Cheetos...
as fast as they could stuff them into their mouths...
OFF THE BOWLING ALLEY CARPET...
looking like crazed little drug addicts.
Surely, wherever you might have been, you heard me screaming. And trying to resist the urge to pour disinfectant into their flourescent orange mouths.
They lived.
But the incident got me thinking about my approach. You might call it "abstinence only." They might not be able to eat crap when they're at home, but when the opportunity arises? Well, they haven't learned a thing about self-control.
I have plenty of friends who've chosen a different path. Chips and candy and ice cream around the house. Their children partake some. And then they stop.
I wonder what that would look like?
I'd have to learn myself, too.
