As parents, we teach our kids to share. “Sharing is caring”, and all that crap. We tell them to share their (unlicked) candy, their (unbroken) toys, and their (unfarted upon) blanket with their sibling because, damnit, the whining has got to stop. We even go the extra mile as a mom or dad and display random acts of sharing, ourselves. Selfless acts such as sharing our beloved meatball sandwich that the child will, inevitably, spit out. We share our bathroom time. ALL. DAY. LONG. And we share the most sacred of sacred places: our bed. Share, share, share.
Well, folks; the time has come to draw a line in the sandbox. Something has GOT to give. And so here I sit, in my dark-ish pantry, eating a handful of mini Reeses, ALONE. Do I feel guilty? The only guilt I have is that I may have to unbutton my pants later. Am I ashamed? Only because I’ll be stashing this wad of colorful wrappers behind a cereal box in about 2.5 seconds.
Why you ask? Because in addition to teaching our kids to blow their nose, wipe their butt, chew with their mouth closed, and, of course, share, we also teach them about the survival of the fittest. Do these delicious morsels of chocolaty goodness make me fit? Not hardly. In fact, one too many and they’ll ensure that I won’t even fit in my damn pants. But I’ll get through this parenting gig by way of survival of the fit’ness chocolate in my mouth. And so will my kids. They should thank me, really. There are days that only a single peanut butter cup stands between them and the Almighty. Or at least it keeps them from losing all privileges. So I’ll continue to teach my kids the ways of the world and sharing. And one day, when they’re parents, they’ll find out all about Survival of the Fit’ness. I hope their kids find their hiding spot and secret peanut butter cup stash, too. I mean, fair is fair.
In the coming weeks, I plan on teaching them all about sharing their Easter candy with mom. Because sharing = caring. And really, because I’m the one buying it, anyway.