I usually let them hold the fork themselves, at least
I feel a little better. Although my stop at the Farm Boy deli counter didn't help -- every time I see macaroni and cheese loaf I just want to collapse on the glass and say "WHY?" beseechingly. And what in the name of encased meats is PLAIN head cheese? Less eyebrow? Cheek only?
Then there was the aggravation of trying to convince my son that he could make a sandwich by himself. When we were visiting friends in Edmonton over Easter, I suddenly froze and realized, to my total humiliation, that I was CUTTING MY TEN-YEAR-OLD'S MEAT. Not that this is in any way unusual - I didn't feed him pretzels when he was eighteen months because I was afraid he'd choke on them, and then I suddenly realized when he was six that it was probably long past the time he could have pretzels. I start doing stuff and I just keep doing the same stuff, which doesn't work that well when you have rapidly changing children, except that those children naturally find it expedient NOT to volunteer the fact that they can probably construct a simple meal, put away their own laundry and wipe their own asses (okay, that I did stop doing) when apparently I'm happy to just keep on doing it all.
Fortunately just as I was about to say "oh my goodness, what am I doing cutting Angus's meat, I must have just had a flashback to when he was four", I looked up and saw my friend cutting her ELEVEN-year-old's meat. Whew.
Part of the problem is that I'm a control freak and Angus is a perfectionist. I don't really want him spilling milk and smearing mustard everywhere, and he has a morbid fear of exactly the same thing, because the world might END. The problem is, waiting until he's seventeen isn't then going to make him magically able to pour and spread and cut without making a mess. He'll just look like an exceptionally stupid seventeen-year-old.
Also, there's the fridge. I would post a picture, but I don't want anyone fainting or hurling on my account. If I'm going to insist that he makes his own lunch, I probably need to be able to provide better instructions than "okay, open the fridge. Now hold the salsa bottle with one hand and tip it over, reach past it and grab the middle part of that leaning tower of lunch meat and wiggle it out. I think the mayo is under that upside-down jam jar. If you reach to the very back of the bottom shelf and bend your hand back towards your wrist you might be able to hook a package of cheese slices."
Farm Boy had two more containers of Eve's coconut yogurt yesterday. That's the only thing she's willing to get for herself, and she eats it six times a day so I don't have to feed her much else for the next little bit.
Right, then. I'm off to clean out the fridge and stop stunting my children's developmental advancement.
Then there was the aggravation of trying to convince my son that he could make a sandwich by himself. When we were visiting friends in Edmonton over Easter, I suddenly froze and realized, to my total humiliation, that I was CUTTING MY TEN-YEAR-OLD'S MEAT. Not that this is in any way unusual - I didn't feed him pretzels when he was eighteen months because I was afraid he'd choke on them, and then I suddenly realized when he was six that it was probably long past the time he could have pretzels. I start doing stuff and I just keep doing the same stuff, which doesn't work that well when you have rapidly changing children, except that those children naturally find it expedient NOT to volunteer the fact that they can probably construct a simple meal, put away their own laundry and wipe their own asses (okay, that I did stop doing) when apparently I'm happy to just keep on doing it all.
Fortunately just as I was about to say "oh my goodness, what am I doing cutting Angus's meat, I must have just had a flashback to when he was four", I looked up and saw my friend cutting her ELEVEN-year-old's meat. Whew.
Part of the problem is that I'm a control freak and Angus is a perfectionist. I don't really want him spilling milk and smearing mustard everywhere, and he has a morbid fear of exactly the same thing, because the world might END. The problem is, waiting until he's seventeen isn't then going to make him magically able to pour and spread and cut without making a mess. He'll just look like an exceptionally stupid seventeen-year-old.
Also, there's the fridge. I would post a picture, but I don't want anyone fainting or hurling on my account. If I'm going to insist that he makes his own lunch, I probably need to be able to provide better instructions than "okay, open the fridge. Now hold the salsa bottle with one hand and tip it over, reach past it and grab the middle part of that leaning tower of lunch meat and wiggle it out. I think the mayo is under that upside-down jam jar. If you reach to the very back of the bottom shelf and bend your hand back towards your wrist you might be able to hook a package of cheese slices."
Farm Boy had two more containers of Eve's coconut yogurt yesterday. That's the only thing she's willing to get for herself, and she eats it six times a day so I don't have to feed her much else for the next little bit.
Right, then. I'm off to clean out the fridge and stop stunting my children's developmental advancement.
Comments
But seriously, I am EXACTLY like you, and my oldest is EXACTLY like Angus. I used to fear that I would be pouring his juice until he was 20 years old but just recently, my six year old daughter started to do it FOR HIM. He still can't work the TV remote because I've always just done it for him. THE TV. Now if that isn't motivation, I don't know what is.
He'll surely have to live with us until he gets married, then some poor woman will be saddled with his care as if he's a 90 year old. SERIOUSLY, MOTHERING FAIL.
Also, just about died at your description of your fridge, are you sure it wasn't MY fridge?
Let me know if you get Angus to make his own sandwiches, I need a mentor.
They get stuck in the back of the chair, fall down the stairs, water everything BUT the garden,and put their shoes on the wrong feet (and not even care). How am I supposed to trust them with making a sandwich? I can't even trust them not to cut their clothes "accidentally" while making a craft, or to prevent their arms from "accidentally" whacking their siblings. We need to work our way up to knives. Baby steps.
By the time they are 5, they are very tidy and compotent independent eaters. Of course, this is quite theoretical as only one of them is 5 yet. But she's a tidy eater!
I'm happy to read this post and the comments because I sometimes wonder if I shouldn't be more like those more meticulous moms who carry very finely cut fruit in tupperware around with them. I usually have a babybel in my pocket and my one-year old won't let me remove the packaging for her. She prefers to bite her way through to the cheese. If I unwrap it for her she feels cheated and throws it at the dog.
My long meandering point here is I never really considered that it is clearly their personalities driving this and not my lazy-ass momness.
talk to me in 20 years when my mama's boy is sitting in my living room yelling at me for not being able to find the love of his life.
*sigh*
It's funny how you just keep doing things the same way for years and years and years. That's why vacations away from the kids are so important..when you come back you see them as 11 instead of 2. (in theory. I haven't had one)(a vacation)(sigh)
Not that I've ever lived through a blizzard, what with living in Vancouver and all. But if we get one, who will be laughing while everyone else is forced to subsist on pickles and canned beans that they purchased 4 years ago and never ate? That would be me.
+followed