Little White Lies

“Mommy, can I have that toy?”  Caiden points to the claw machine with excitement.  His little feet stomp, and I can see the beginnings of a temper tantrum.  I have three choices.  Choice number one:  Give into my child so he knows that I’m a spineless mother who will give in at the slightest whine.  Choice number two:  Say “no” and allow the nuclear meltdown to commence in the outer edges of Wal-mart.  Choice three:  lie. 

                Being the wise person I am, I pick choice number three.   I know, I know…lying is a sin.  I don’t care.  Not when I’m surrounded by Wal-Mart people watching my child with that knowing smile on their face.  They are simply waiting for the eruption.  I refuse to indulge their love of people judging.  Here’s how the scenario plays out:  Caiden’s eyes begin to tear, his little foot is on the upward swing for a massive foot stomp, and I bend down and with as much sympathy and remorse in my voice state, “Oh, sweetie, Mommy’s sorry, but this machine is broken.”  Caiden accepts this, nods his little head, glares at the machine, grabs my hand, and we both walk merrily out of the store. 

                There might be some that will recoil with shocked disgust at this story.  How could I lie to my own children?  Easy.  I call it picking my battles, and with a four-year-old and a two-year-old, I have enough important battles to fight.  So, I really don’t bat an eyelash when I tell my children that we ran out of fruit snacks when in truth ten boxes lie in wait in the basement.  I also sleep well at night when I tell my child that I’m going to go right to bed, too.  Two hours later, my little head hits the pillow with my conscience intact.  I do not fear a lightning bolt from God when I tell Caiden that Sid the Science Kid is unfortunately not on even as I skip over it in the information guide on the television.

                My ability to bypass the temper tantrum abyss is due in large part to my creative storytelling!  I’m okay with this.  I realize, however, that once my children are old enough (and I hope bright enough) to tell the difference between a claw machine that works and claw machine that’s on the fritz, my choices will be limited to giving in or creating a scene.  I guess the future will tell; until then, my creativity will know no bounds!

                Have you ever lied to your precious little ones?  If so, share…I could use some new material.

Once Upon an Enchilada

Once upon a time there was a junior high girl sitting down for lunch in her school cafeteria.  That days’ menu:  enchiladas.  For those of you who are connoisseurs of Mexican gourmet, do not picture the enchilada you know and love.  The enchilada in front of this awkward teenager was simply half of a hamburger bun with meat sauce topped with liquid nacho cheese.  Simple fare, yes.  But normally very tasty.  Until the fateful day this tale involves.  So, there she sat, fork poised over her Mexican barbeque, when she heard from the equally as awkward teenage boy next to her a high pitched “Holy *$&%”!  Glancing over to her noisy neighbor, she saw his horrified face staring intently at his plate.  Glancing in the same direction, the girl saw white maggots swimming gleefully in the nacho cheese slathered meat sauce.  The End…of the enchilada. 

                Unlike most stories that begin with “Once upon a time” and end with “The end”, this fairy tale (nightmare) actually happened.  The heroine in distress?  Me.  Who saved me from my fear of the horrible, maggot dripping “dragon”?  My Prince Charming of course!  Every damsel in distress has one.  During our college days at South Dakota State University, my white knight took me to his castle (“Guadalajara”) and forced me to face my personal dragon.  My trepidation, palpable and causing sweat in very un-princess like places, churned in my stomach as the waiter brought the plate to the table.  Strangely, what the waiter brought was not a hamburger bun with leftover meat swimming in a tomato sauce.  It looked like a burrito…I liked burritos!  Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.  Under the mirthful and slightly concerned gaze of my knight, I grabbed my fork and prepared to dive into this burrito looking thing.  I paused, waiting for the high pitched “holy *&%*”, but it didn’t come.  I threw caution to the wind, cut off a big bite, and stuck my nightmare into my mouth.  What came next?  Why, my happy ending of course!  It was love at first bite.  Although, I occasionally cheat on my first love with my lover…the chimichanga!  But, ssssshhhh, don’t tell.  I don’t want a greasy food duel over lil’ ol’ me.

                The dragon was defeated, the damsel in distress got her man and an insatiable appetite for Mexican food, and she lived happily ever after.  THE END.

                Every princess or prince has a story to tell…what’s your food story?
 p.s.
If this has made you hungry for enchiladas I thought I'd share this with you.
http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/the-essence-of-emeril/chicken-enchiladas-recipe/index.html