An Unsupervised Toddler

in Giggles on February 13, 2023

Yesterday was Super Bowl Sunday. How ‘bout them Cowboys? Congratulations to Dak on his win—even if it wasn’t on last night’s field.

It also happened to be the day that my husband left for a week-long trip; which means I have the house all to myself. For the next five days, it’s just me, the dogs, and the cat. While technically Jeff and I are “Empty Nesters” we rarely have a completely empty nest. The kids are only a forty-five minute drive up the road, and one (or more) of them take advantage of that fact at least once a week; hence, the un-empty nest.

This week will be different, though.

All of the children are under incredibly strict orders to shelter in place. I am not lonely (this week). I have nothing particularly interesting to chat about (this week). And, hear me clearly when I say this: MY KITCHEN IS CLOSED (this week), so do not show up here at any point, expecting a hot meal.

Now, just because my kitchen is officially closed, doesn’t mean I haven’t recently been to the grocery store. I braved the over-crowed aisles on the Saturday before the biggest football game of the year, in order to stock up on supplies.

I realized as I turned into the parking lot of the store that I was hungry. I wasn’t just a little hungry. I was hangry. An innocent trip to HEB (local Texas grocer), was about to go significantly off the rails.

HEB is quite possibly my favorite store.

Ever.

Their slogan of, “Here Everything’s Better” is absolutely correct—starting with the homemade-in-store butter tortillas. I helped myself to a package fresh from the Tortilleria, opened it up, ate two tortillas, and tried to ease my hunger cravings, with the hopes of mitigating the needless incursion of ancillary food products.

I was supremely unsuccessful.

My trip to the grocery store was supposed to be an “essentials run.” Instead, my shopping cart looked like an unsupervised toddler had been turned loose in a gas station with a twenty dollar bill.

The checker asked me how old my children were as she rang up hotdogs, fish sticks, chicken nuggets, three different kinds of macaroni and cheese, Pringles, and chocolate covered strawberries. I missed her initial meaning, and off-handedly said, “Nineteen, twenty and twenty-one. Why?”

I wish I was making this up.

My cart apparently looked as though my house was still overrun with littles.

A portion of what I came home with

For years, I cooked meals that hit on every level of the Food Pyramid. My kiddos ate their vegetables. ALLL of their vegetables. Each meal had protein, starches, and whole grains. Items such as fish sticks and chicken nuggets were a rarity.

Me, on the other hand, I grew up with tons of processed food; some of which has been taken completely off the market for adverse health effects. Eh. I turned out fine. But every so often, I crave morsels from my childhood. I do not often indulge myself these unhealthy little pleasures, because let’s face it, I’m over forty and I simply cannot be sustained off artificial fish and Red Dye #7.

But, once in a while, I delight in a stroll down the streets of Memory Lane, located in Food Town.

I thoroughly enjoyed the Super Bowl festivities of last night. Since my Cowboys weren’t playing, I didn’t really care who won. I was just there for the food and the commercials. My dinner consisted of chicken wings, various layers of dip, a brownie, cream-cheese-bacon-wrapped jalapeño peppers, a half a piece of Italian Cream cake, about half a bag of chips, and one old fashioned. This morning, at 8:23 am, I partook in a big bowl of breakfast spaghetti, reheated from the other night.

It is early in my week of extravagance and independence. There’s literally no telling what variety of elements will make up my next dining experience.

As you start your week, I hope you can find something that brings you as much enjoyment and fulfillment as a bag of chicken nuggets brought to me! Live a little this week, eat the snack, and take a minute to yourself, and live like an unsupervised toddler who is running through your house.

One thought on “An Unsupervised Toddler”

Comments are closed.