I was home from the grocery store for less than an hour when I noticed Tate, his mouth stuffed full of newly purchased, thinly sliced ham.
“Tate, there better be enough of that ham left for the kids’ lunches this week,” I said in my well-practiced irritated voice.
His face registered shock and fear as both of our eyes looked down upon a nearly empty package of just purchased honey cured ham.
“TATE! I JUST bought that! It was supposed to last the WHOLE week!”
Replace ham with any food that has been specially purchased for the children and has the potential to create MELTDOWNS! and HAVOC! if we were to run out. Despite my huffing and well-practiced irritated looks, Tate continues to leave ONE granola bar in the box, that of course I realize seconds after promising TWO children their own granola bar for snack. Or he’ll leave *just enough* orange juice for a flea. He’s even been known to eat the last two cheese sticks I’d promised our children for their snack.
“How was I supposed to know you were saving that?!” he’ll reply, while I stand behind him holding a fake knife, making stabbing motions.
Look. I know I’m being petty. Of course he has as much right as anyone in our family to eat. Poor wittle Tate, I don’t want him to go hungwy!
I just want him to be able to read my mind and realize that I have plans for certain foods and that his eating said foods will make me want rip out his toenails.