Here is a partial list of things I am letting go of:
Keeping Rory awake in the car.
Any opinion about what clothes are worn outside the house.
The sporting of snow boots in all seasons.
The amount of cereal poured into a bowl.
The amount of milk poured onto the cereal.
The size, shape and intended function of the spoon with which the cereal is eaten.
The consumption of fruit at breakfast.
The requirement that a san dwich form a part of a healthy lunch.
Here is something I haven’t yet managed to relax about:
And is Rory, wrestling with the same issue, packing her lunch with my help.
Rory: I want chocolate milk. Not like that. In a cup.
Me: nope, no sippy cup with milk or juice. I know the babysitter let you pack one last week but I don’t put sippys with anything but water in them in lunch. (they leak). In a box.
Rory:Â I want a cup!
Me: No. This, or no chocolate milk.
Rory: I want that. (to the box, pouting.) And I want yogurt.
Rory: I want you lift me up so I c’d show you.
I do, and she points to the much coveted, and expensive, yogurt with the honey off to the side. Ok, I say, and then add, to her delight, that this can be “her protein.” (The inclusion of protein in the lunch and the eating thereof is a big issue at preschool.)
Her fruit will be an apple, we decide, and–I want chips! Not chips–the–I want what I had today. (Veggie stix, the chip equivalent of french fries.)
Me: ok, here you go. i give her stix–opening the container and showing them to her–in a tupperware that typically belongs to Wyatt, and she is NOT HAPPY. I no want that, she says, and I take one of my probably stupid stands against irrationality and refuse to give her a different plastic container, because this one is ALREADY DIRTY.
There is a pause. There are initial movements in the general direction of a tantrum. This container, or no chips, I declare, and she stamps, and she holds it out, and takes the lid off to make sure I have really, truly understood that what she doesn’t want is the container, not the chips, and I stand firm, and…she puts the container in her lunch bos, and takes out the chocolate milk defiantly. I gon’ have WATER, she shouts–and gets a sippy cup and fills it with water.
It’s shameful how much I resent this, but I let it go.