It never occurred to me the day might come when the kids would no longer start sentences with “Put your hand up if you like…..” but I’m sure it’s just one of many rites of passage they’ll graduate from and onto “Put your hands up if you’re gnarly” or whatever gnarly phrase the kids will be using by then.
It’s a phrase I’m so used to hearing, I find myself waving my arms in the air many, many times each day. So much so, it’s difficult to get anything done because chances are good someone will ask, “Put your hand up if you like chocolate” and I’ll have to drop the laundry basket or the pot I’m scrubbing or the broom I’m using to sweep up the chocolate that I’m waving my “like” arm in the air to acknowledge.
Last night, the kids were downstairs with Greg watching the Super Bowl while I was reading bedtime stories to Chloe and rocking her in her chair. She had a short, afternoon nap and essentially, lunged for the crib after the first book.
Rather than racing downstairs to see what twelve seconds of real time football I had missed, I saw an opportunity for four minutes of alone time (real time, eight seconds football time) and I did something unthinkable.
I snuck, yes, snuck, over to the pantry cupboard and like a child searching the house for Christmas presents before the 25th, I found a can of Pringles and tore into them like it was the first morsel of food I’d had access to, post enormous chicken wing dinner.
Chips of any kind are a special treat and never, EVER served up on a Sunday. I guess I felt somewhat entitled because I knew the rest of the world was stuffing themselves with junk in the name of sport and to help balance the chicken wings, I had served carrots, broccoli and salad so I saw Pringles as the obvious choice to wash the veggies down.
Until I heard the thumpety-thump of two thirsty kids racing up the stairs to get a glass of water.
My attempts at shushing were futile given the stack of Pringles I had just forced into my mouth for fear of being found out. If you’re wondering, it is exactly the same sensation as trying to whistle with a mouth full of crackers.
I could only nod at their request for help in retrieving two water glasses from the cupboard. I guess I deserved the extreme pain I was feeling from a mountain of chips in my mouth, slicing into the roof like when you get dental x-rays and they force you to bite down on that sharp piece while they leisurely waltz over to the machine to hit the “zap her” button.
Hanna: Put your hand up if you like water when you’re hot!
What I wouldn’t give for a glass of water right now. The three of us raised our hands and I considered chewing a dish cloth to soften the chips.
They turned and started to run back down the stairs. It worked! Nobody caught me eating their favourite, forbidden treat. I didn’t have to share, apologize or admit weakness to my kids. A huge thumbs up and perhaps I will take the community theatre try-out seriously.
Until I heard Ellie half way down the stairs shout, “Put your hand up if you like PRINGLES!!!!”
There I was gagging on chip dust over the sink with one arm in the air, not to be confused with the international sign for “I’ve-Been-Caught.”
