Nobody’s Perfect

Mocha cupcake. Hands off.

I don’t know why it came as such a surprise to them. It wasn’t new information. I know they haven’t been laboring under the illusion the Mom-is-a-saint illusion. That ship sailed long ago. So when that package of sweets arrived unexpectedly in our mailbox, why did it rock my kids’ world to be reminded of a great truth? Mom doesn’t share.

There, I said it. I don’t share. I never have. Okay, I do share sometimes, but apparently letting them share my body for nine months was soon forgotten. But I don’t share food. Not the good stuff.

Don’t look at me like that. I feed them. Daily. Several times. But when I am presented with a tasty morsel, some treat of which there is limited quantity, I go Cro-Magnon. I hide my kill and come back for it later. Bears don’t share, so why should I?

I don’t know why they thought this package was different. Before management jacked the price up 60%, I routinely bought a vegan brownie at Whole Foods once a week. I savored that tidbit all week long, dividing it into four pieces and treating myself at the end of a long day. The kids would tease me about it, pretending they were going to eat it themselves, but it was all in good fun. They never expected to have any of it for real. And they leave my chocolate cereal alone. It’s my new “brownie-isn’t-worth-the-money-but-I-need-something-sweet” treat. They leave that alone. Only if I have been a slacker and allowed us to run out of regular cereal do they expect to receive a bowlful. It’s my penance.

So why do they seem to think that these delightful little candies are up for grabs? Is it because they are Cadbury? Because they are individually wrapped? Because they are from England? Or is it just because they are mine? And they are. Mine! Mine! Mine!

Upon seeing the contents of the package, daughter threw puppy-dog eyes, middle son hugged me, and Squish, in his Pavlovian response to receiving treats for his dirty business, ran to the bathroom to poop. That’s nice, ya’ll but no. No. No. No. Mine.

I put the treats in a high cabinet as soon as I brought them in the house. Out of sight, but definitely not out of mind. My son said “You might want a surveillance camera just to keep an eye on them.” Does he really think they are staying there? I may be absent-minded, but I am not stupid. I put them in that cabinet to throw them off the trail. I have a series of secret places, and I will simply move my goodies from spot to spot until I have finished them. My dark chocolate and raspberry candies lived in my sock drawer. My brownie lived in the kids’ Halloween buckets. Ironically, they never look there. I have been known to tuck treats in an empty Tampax box, guaranteeing no male in the household will touch it. It’s like hiding Superman’s cookies in a kryptonite cabinet.

So where to put these little morsels? Yeah, right. Like I’m telling. I. Don’t. Share.