My kids don’t care if there are starving children in Africa

0 Flares Twitter 0 Facebook 0 Google+ 0 Pin It Share 0 Buffer 0 Email -- 0 Flares ×

Last night, for dinner, my two and a half year old rubbed cucumber on her face.

“Mama! Do you want to try mine lipstick?”

“No thank you. How about you eat it instead? You were the one that threw the cucumber into the cart at the store and asked me to bring it home.”

“I don’t want to eat it.”

“Ok. Then eat some of your chicken, please.”

“I not hungwy.”

She ingested exactly NOTHING.

As a toddler, my son did the same thing. It drove me insane. I imagined myself forcing syringe-fuls of gravy down his throat like my mother did to a baby African Grey parrot she had picked up at a flea market when I was a kid. (You read that right.)

For something that’s required to maintain oh, say, ACTUALLY BEING ALIVE, and should be enjoyable to boot, it’s amazing how many times a day the whole process of eating and nourishing my children makes me want to take a nap in a dumpster.

If in the next couple years I end up in a padded room it’s likely because for the six hundredth time my morning started like this:

“Josie, what would you like for breakfast?”

“I want a snack.”

“It’s not snack time. It’s breakfast time. How about some oatmeal?” (The kind in the skinny box with the heartier oats, because the kind that you pour hot water on is “reg-a-la” oatmeal and apparently, may as well be dog vomit.)

“No oatmeal.”

“How about toast?”

“No thank you. I not hungwy.”

Cue ten minutes later, I’m making coffee and her head is in the snack cupboard, rifling for something I’ve obviously not offered.

“No way, girlfriend. Are you ready for breakfast now? How about some eggs?”

With a hint of defeat in her voice she agrees. “Oh KAY.”

Soon, she’s pushing eggs around her plate with the excuse that they’re too hot. Perhaps a tablespoon actually makes it into her mouth. The rest remain.

“I all done, mama.”

“Come ON, dude! Those are organic!”

She flits off to find tap shoes and I find the bite I thought she ate under her chair.

It’s not always like that. Some days she’ll house the whole bowl of oatmeal and then proceed to eat an entire banana fifteen minutes later. But more often than not it seems like I’m holding back the age old mom exclamation of “THERE ARE STARVING CHILDREN IN AFRICA!”.

Sometimes I walk out of the grocery store and wonder if I shouldn’t just roll the full cart over an embankment and head home.

Then I remember. My 8 year old made it though, despite turning his nose up at enough food to feed at least a small village. I’m reminded, when looking at my daughter’s full plate and wondering how she’s existing on air and god damn sunbeams, that no child has ever starved themselves to death.

More importantly, perhaps, is that for toddlers who are testing their new found independence, it’s a way to feel in control. Life must be hard when you’re spending your day at butt level, getting shuffled around on the whims of people three times your size. Come brush your teeth, it’s time to take a nap, we don’t sit on the cat. That shit must get OLD. Having the final say in what does or does not go into your body is absolutely your prerogative. Hell, it’s the only card you’ve really got at that point.

I learned with my son that ultimatums lead to tears and fake gagging on beans that can sometimes lead to real throw up. That’s a lesson you only have to learn once.

But at the end of a day that has been fueled by 3 spoonfuls of yogurt, a slice and a half of apple (“NO SKIN!”/”WHY DID YOU CUT OFF THE SKIN?”/”I WANT THE SKIN AND THE APPLE BUT NOT TOGETHER!” on any given day) and possibly a mouthful of peanut butter toast (it’s hard to tell if any is missing because it’s been mutilated into seven thousand pieces), I celebrate. Because we’ve all lived one more day without resorting to a pancake batter IV, and for the next 12 hours, I don’t have to try to feed ANYONE.





Oh, thanks but I’m not hungry. That snowflake I caught a couple hours ago really filled me right up.

amateur comedian, professional bullshitter. will take pay in baked goods once already rich.

  • andrewcary11

    Hey, We paid alot of money for that damn bird!!

  • Jess W.

    … read as I finish off the bowl of local-ganic goat yogurt and berries she did not finish…

    • OddlyWellAdjusted

      Gah! Ingrates!

  • Liberals are hilarious

    Mulatto kid rejects coalburner’s white guilt. No surprises here, mom.

  • Ebenezer Scrooge

    newsflash, there are no starving children in africa. it’s all a ponzi scheme. it’s fake like ISIS, eboLie, global warming, terrorism, 9/11 etc… you just never did the research, feeling sorry for images on a photograph or 3 second video, never truly knowing who you’re donating to.

  • Angela

    So I just found your blog and I’m hooked! I’ll be binge-reading the rest of it for awhile. I have a 3.5 year old now, and have given up on any semblance of control over his food intake. As you said, that’s what he really has control over now, so, FINE. I also realized that the other thing toddlers have exclusive control over is what comes OUT of their bodies. I have NOT been able to rush potty training, it’s all on his own time and his own decision. I suggest, he declines. We did that dance for awhile. He’s finally getting into now, though, thank goodness! But the realization did hit my like a boulder, “I literally can not MAKE him poop! That’s all him!” LOL