“Shh, shh,” I soothed him in the dark, trying not to laugh. “Who ate your cookie, Honey? Did Daddy eat your cookie?”
My husband had eaten the rest of our son’s first cookie after dinner that night.
“No! [Unintelligible M-word] ate my cookie!”
“Moe-man ate your cookie?” I asked because the cat had been licking his head earlier in the night and because I like to blame things on the cat.
“No! Mommy ate my cookie!” he answered.
Which was true. I’d finished the replacement cookie I’d given him. It had dropped on the floor and broken and I thought it was okay to scavenge it. (Yes, I ate a cookie off the floor. Don’t tell me you haven’t done the same.)
My husband hates wasting food and is a very aggressive scavenger at our table. At least once a day, my son bursts into tears because the food he left on the table 30 minutes before has disappeared. I’m usually a little more lenient about leaving food, mostly because my kids are both big gluten-and-dairy eaters, and I eat neither. Gluten-free cookies I am more likely to scavenge, especially the day they’re made when the chocolate is still a tad gooey inside.
Before work this morning, my husband and I discussed whether this habit is giving our son a complex. He’ll probably end up like a stray cat, bolting down his food because he worries his meal is going to be threatened before he finishes.
But, I suppose if my son is going to have nightmares about something, cookie-stealing isn’t the worst thing he could dream about. At least not from my perspective.