Cereal Killer

I know I am being a big baby about this, but when has that ever stopped me?

Saturday the Pastor came to me and stated he desired to take us out to a restaurant Saturday night. We normally go out, and had gone out on Friday night, and I had planned to cook that night, but hey – twist my arm.

The prospect of going out that night got me very excited. That and the fact I was writing a paper on the Romantic Period in British Literature and I desired a distraction, so I fixated on daydreaming about my special date with the Pastor (and the girls).

I put on my new Barbie makeup.

I flipped out my hair with my flat iron.

I spent considerable time and effort getting fixed up.

Later that day, the Pastor and I started that conversation, you know the one that goes something like this: “where do YOU want to go eat.” Only this is when the Pastor tells me we are still going out but he is not hungry and he is probably not going to eat. What? It's our special dinner!

At this point I could sense things were unraveling, so I went against my earlier instinct to wear my new, fancy black dress. I did, however, put on dressy jeans, heels and my fuschia satin trenchcoat.

We ended up going to Moe’s, which was really fine with me, except when we got there the Pastor and the girls promptly abandoned me in the burrito line to order the food while they went and sat down in a booth. Still ok at this point, I’d rather not wait in a lengthy line with kids if I don’t have to. But then, I had to pay for my own special date dinner. Not ok. And the Pastor ate, but I’m not supposed hold him accountable for eating when he said he wasn’t going to, because apparently Moe’s has good fish tacos.

That bothered me. It was just like the other night when the Pastor said he wanted to take me out for my beloved $7 ice cream, but then I paid for it. I know all of our money comes from the same place (him) and goes in the same pot (my purse), but there is a different connotation when I have to pull money out to pay for certain things. Plus, at the end of the month when I’m over budget, well we’d better not go there. The trip to Moe’s and the $7 ice cream isn’t going to be the thing that makes me go over budget, now Is it? (Barbie makeup) But it’s the principle of the thing.

Moving on.

14 cups of cereal

Friday night we went grocery shopping, which doesn’t sound like fun, but it was at Super Target so it was. We (The Pastor) allowed the girls to each choose a box of cereal. That was FRIDAY night. Fast-forward to SUNDAY. That means the girls had the opportunity to eat the cereal for breakfast Saturday and Sunday morning.

Each box of cereal originally contained 10 cups of cereal. When I picked up one of the boxes off the counter Sunday morning, it was amazingly light. Further investigation revealed large quantities of cereal missing.

For various reasons, we have been working with the girls on their eating habits, doing things like trying to set a good example (except when I am eating 4 pieces of cake at a wedding), exercising and encouraging healthy lifestyles. We have talked to them about what is a serving size and had taught them for breakfast to measure out a cup of cereal and half a cup of milk amd that is your serving of milk and cereal and your breakfast. Voila!

Silly me. When I would see the cereal bowls and the measuring cups in the sink, it would make me happy. Kids are doing what they are supposed to be doing!

Well apparently, Loretta had decided she no longer liked using the measuring cup. I’m not sure what the other one’s excuse was. Someone had used the measuring cup because it was in the sink.

And out of the two boxes of cereal, exactly 14 cups of cereal were missing. Which means between the two girls, each had consumed 7 cups of cereal over a two-day span. And the worst part, is that before we even knew how much cereal she had eaten, Loretta had been lamenting about her starvation to the Pastor (who hadn't even eaten breakfast that day), wondering when we would be going out to dinner. AND WE HAD TO DEAL WITH ALL OF THIS ON THE SABBATH.

There is no day of rest in parenting.

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