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I have a friend whose daughter went to several camps this summer. At one camp she learned fencing … as one never knows when one will need to defend herself in the suburbs with an epée, foil, or saber.
She performed a Broadway play at another camp. Her final and favorite is a survival camp, where she spent a week deep in the Adirondack Mountains. Campers bond as they learn to live off the land. Clearly, they didn’t watch Kevin Bacon’s movie White Water Summer.
As for my children, what did they do this summer? They attended a couple of day camps — playing basketball and painting, but for the most part they just had snacks.
I am convinced my children have tapeworms. There is no other explanation for their incessant need for food. They want a snack before breakfast. They will actually ask for a snack while I am cleaning up after lunch. My son has asked for a snack with a fork in his hand. My daughter has asked for a snack while chewing a snack. They want snacks minutes before dinner and moments after. They want a snack before bed. There is a good chance they dream of snacks.
Children survive an entire school year without snacking all day, but are famished in the summer.
“There is no way you are hungry again,” I insist time and time again. My daughter has given some Academy Award-winning performances. She will grab her stomach, nearly collapsing to the floor in agony while pleading, “But I am starving.” Meryl Streep doesn’t have anything on this girl.
The grocery store clerk must think I have an unhealthy obsession with Goldfish crackers. Don’t judge me. I also feed my children fruit, yogurt, cashews, etc. But I am not Queen Bey. I don’t have millions in the bank (or take photographs with my newborn children in a garden while wearing a blanket and a veil, but I digress).
Crackers are on the menu every now and then. My children happen to enjoy Autolyzed Yeast and Thiamine Mononitrate. Also, according to the box, these crackers are “made with smiles.” Broccoli can’t say that.
The issue really isn’t what they are eating, but the frequency. Someone once suggested they serve themselves. Yes, they are capable of opening a refrigerator or cabinet and putting food on a plate.
Unfortunately, children don’t quite grasp the importance of portion control. I don’t want them starring in a reality show on TLC. I would have to clean up the mess anyway. My son “helped” clear the table after lunch this week and somehow managed to make the kitchen dirtier. My children could have clean hands and yet still leave a thin film on the refrigerator handle. Maybe they dip their hands in maple syrup when I’m not looking? A child’s definition of clean isn’t the same as mine. I prefer not to live in filth.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel. One day my children will, hopefully, take care of me … and I will have just one request: snacks.
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