Some kids came to my door selling candy bars. Most parents still feel safe letting their kids go door-to-door on base. Which is fine, except that it costs me a lot of money.
There were three kids, so I bought one small candy bar from each of them. I told my kids, "Since we already had a good dinner, we can each have one candy bar as a special treat."
I unwrapped their bars and put them on plates and let them eat them in front of the TV. (As CB says in these situations, "I am SuperMom!") I put my own candy bar on the dining room table to save for an intense savoring after the kids were in bed.
I left the kids alone for a few minutes to run their bath and when I checked on them, they were both still eating candy bars.
Hmmm. That's interesting. They're eating really slow.
I decided to eat my own candy bar while the kids were in the bathtub. I'm not very good at delayed gratification. Except, wait. Where did I put it again?
And it dawned on me. Those little shits! They're eating my candy bar!
"Did you take my candy bar?" I asked them both.
"No, Mommy!" my daughter replied. "My brother opened it."
"And are you both putting it in your mouth right now?" I asked her.
"Well, yes," she admitted. "We broke it in half to share it." She couldn't exactly deny it.
My little dears or not, no one should ever come between a PMSing woman and her chocolate.
I read them the riot act about respect and thoughtfulness and sharing.
And when I told this story to my husband he said, "Well, look on the bright side, Honey. At least they were sharing with each other. That's really sweet. Most siblings would kill each other over a candy bar."
Yeah, great. It's really sweet. My children are conspiring against me.
And who's going to buy me more chocolate?