Cookie Monster

We don’t feed our children processed sugar. Okay, well we don’t do it often. Partly because I’m one of those psycho, crunchy mothers/medical professionals who feels like high fructose corn syrup is going to be the downfall of society (by route of Diabetes…it actually has a twisted sort of logic to it so just hush.)

My oldest (who is 3.5) had probably had cake less than ten times in her life. She never got a drive through lollypop until she was three. I’m evil like that. All the time I get the “But she’s so SAD that she doesn’t get sweets! It seems so cruel!” Insert eye roll here.

No. No. No. My child didn’t have cookies or cake until after she was 2.5, and it was homemade non processed foods. How can she miss something she’s never had? Seriously, people. That makes no sense.

Anyway, sorry. Climbing down off my soap box. Getting back to my original story: Cookie Monster.

True to our form our 13 month old daughter has not had any processed sugar (with the exception of a homemade birthday cake for her first birthday – which she hated, I will point out).

We recently went to a 4th of July party and came home with a bag of chocolate covered pretzels and chocolate covered oreos. We we going to snack on them on occasion after the kids were in bed, and offer them to guests, etc. Apparently my oldest child (Jean, 22, who is home from college) had taken the bag into our playroom (where the TV is) and not put it back in the kitchen.

Fast forward to the next morning. My husband is downstairs playing Skyrim (side note: this game is so addictive it has it’s own 12 step program. It is very enjoyable, but only if you like avoiding things like eating, bathing and relieving yourself) Kathryn is playing on the floor and making general baby noises, some of which are actually words. She crawls behind the coffee table, he continues playing (don’t worry, we are not terrible parents. We made sure all swords, 1″ deep puddles of water and poisonous snakes were removed from the play area first).

He then hears crinkling.

And more crinkling.

And then Kathryn peeks up over the edge of the coffee table (all you can see are her eyes) and giggles. Then she slowly lowers herself back down behind the coffee table. Crinkling resumes.

More giggles.

At this point, my husband, decides to see what she’s doing. He walks around the table and our dearest baby daughter has a chocolate covered oreo in each hand. She sees my husband and says” NAaahgg!” (translation: oh shit!) and immediately bolts.

My husband being the gentle, patient, kind, attached parent that he is immediately says, “NO! Give those to me!” and chases her.

Which he has to do for quite awhile, and then must wrestle her to the ground and reclaim these cookies which are now mushy and covered in toddler fingerprints.

And this was BEFORE she had any sugar in her body.

I was kind of glad it was my morning to sleep in. Much funnier if you don’t have to scrub ground in cookie out of the carpets.

(And yes, I’m fairly certain that my husband did, in fact, eat the cookies anyway. You know you wanted to know.)