It's Mother's Day! My day to celebrate myself! I woke up to my husband making coffee and trying to figure out how to turn on the oven to make chocolate croissants. His coffee always tastes better than mine, so the coffee-making part was not unusual; apparently, the oven-turning-on part was a bit of a stretch. I helped him out with this, then waited for one of the kids to wake up so they could put the croissants in the oven. After we ate them, my husband and the kids made blueberry pancakes and bacon. Yum. More coffee, more food. I am happy.
I am still working on my pancakes when my daughter pipes up: "Would you like some cheese?"
"Well, I'm pretty full right now. Maybe later," I say with a motherly smile.
"Okay. How about some cheese for lunch? Or maybe some Arizmendi pizza? Because it's Mother's Day!!!"
Cheese is my daughter's favorite food, and she knows I like it, and Arizmendi pizza, too. It is an expression of daughterly sweetness that makes my heart melt ... and spasm with guilt. Apparently, my Pavlovian behavior around food has not gone unnoticed. Am I really that obvious? I fear I have permanently damaged both of my children's relationships with food. For the rest of their lives.
Sigh (again). I will have to deal with that later. For now, I will just happily eat my way through mother's day.
Is it time for Mocha Frappuccinos yet?
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