We love our kids. It’s a love that defies explanation. Especially when you have evidence of their naughtiness.
Lately the spud has been very naughty indeed. When warned that Santa is watching and naughty children only get coal in their stockings at Christmas she has even declared that I should just lie to Santa so she will still get presents instead of coal and still not have to straighten up her act.
Of her various infractions of varying degrees of seriousness, one recurring misdeed which may not seem like much to others, has really gotten me riled up. She has been binging on candy.
I came home one day in November to this pile of wrappers left as evidence of her mass consumption.
Now, the spud is very smart, she just chooses to believe that if she ignores something it will cease to exist. So when part of her punishment for eating an excess of candy was to clean up her wrapper mess she honestly had forgotten that one existed. Or at least I choose to believe she honestly forgot instead of being deliberately obtuse.
Then on Tuesday a friend gave us a sandwich baggie full of Christmas candy. All but three pieces were gone within a half hour’s time. Right before dinner. So naturally she didn’t want to eat her dinner.
Apparently forgetting that she got in trouble for candy binging on two other recent occasions, she felt no compunction about eating a batch of candy I had just made for Christmas gifts. Sometime between Wednesday and Friday evening she ate about half a pound of homemade fudge when no one was looking. What she couldn’t finish she handled, chewed on and etched a smiley face in before putting it BACK IN THE BAG WITH THE REMAINING FUDGE.
Eeeeeeeeewwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!
There was much screaming, hollering and drama when the befouled fudge was first found.
So now the other half pound is hygienically unsuitable for gift giving. And, yet, it is like $8.00 worth of ingredients, so I hate to just throw it away. I like fudge, and normally it wouldn’t be a hardship to eat left over gift fudge. But, despite the fact she is my own dear spud and I love her very much, it seems totally gross to eat fudge that has been manhandled by grubby almost-eight-year-old fingers which have very likely have not been washed since her shower the night before, and have probably been picking her nose, wiping herself after using the toilet, and petting the dog (among other things). Not to mention the part that had been gnawed on and would be covered in little girl spud spit.
*Shudder*
I guess I will now be making another batch of fudge to replace the cootie-contaminated batch. People tell me that I will one day look back on these things and laugh. I seriously doubt it, but I blog about it for the therapeutic value of getting it off my chest. And, perhaps you all can have a laugh at it.
And, word to the wise: If I get fudge for my birthday I will not find it amusing in the slightest.
Janie's Place 