Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Breakfast

The general rule in our house is that, on school days, Ivie is required to eat a fruit of some sort (usually canned peaches, pears, pineapple, or a banana) for breakfast. We do this because we know that at 8:30a at school, the class heads to the lunch room for morning "snack", which is inevitably a carb-loaded kid-friendly item (think Sticky Buns, folks).

However, if she finishes her fruit at home in a reasonable amount of time (i.e., before it's time to hit the road for school) and she's still hungry, we do give her the option of having a second, much-less-healthy item, like a Pop-Tart, some cereal, or a breakfast bar.

We've gotten to the point where we are a little lax with this rule on the weekends, though, and sometimes we allow her to skip the fruit altogether. Ivie has discovered that this is mostly a Daddy-centered decision, as many times the two of them will head downstairs first, before me, and I don't have time to get her bowl of fruit fixed for her. So Daddy takes advantage and gives in to her request for above-mentioned breakfast fun foods instead.

Well, this morning, I had to leave the house at 6:30a to drive to Greensboro for the ACC Summer Compliance Workshop. So I left before the girls were awake. Used to seeing me when she wakes up (I think I can count on one hand the number of times in her life when she has woken up to only Dale at home), Ivie immediately asked of Dale, "Where's Mommy?!?" in her whining, sad voice. Dale responded matter-of-factly with, "Mommy's at work!" and tried to change the subject.

Ivie was not ready to let it go, though, and started whimpering/crying for me. But then, as if a light bulb went on, she immediately stopped crying, looked at Dale, and said...

"I WANT A POP-TART!!!"

Ah... Looks like we've got a smartie on our hands. Always thinking about how to manipulate the situation to her benefit. And thinks she has Daddy wrapped around her little finger. (Which she does.)

As an aside, Dale swears that he made her eat the peaches first. I guess I believe him...

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