I thought about titling this "Oh no bitch you did not just bring those nasty ass things into my house" but I thought maybe that might be a bit too wordy.
Brennan loves chips. You might remember that from this post. I swear, chips are one of his four food groups - along with M&Ms, fruit snacks, and of course, milk.
While we were in Michigan, I was fixing Brennan a plate for dinner and I included some sour cream and onion chips. When I put the plate in front of him, he recoiled in horror and proclaimed that he does not eat chips with GRASS!! Chips with grass? OK, I guess I can see that in the mind of a 2.5 year old. No chips with grass it is then kid!
Fast forward to last week. I had just finished putting the twins down for their morning nap and returned to the family room to see Brennan sitting on the floor playing with his trains. Cooper (our big shaggy dog) was sniffing around the cabinets beside our computer.
Me: Get outta there Coop, what're you sniffing?
B: (without looking up from his trains) It's the chips with grass.
Me: ::blank stare:: Um, excuse me? What did you say?
He calmly got up, opened the cupboard door, reached in and handed me a giant bag of sour cream and onion chips that had been in the pantry.
I was befuddled for a minute, wondering if the boys that watched our dogs while we were away left them in there for some reason. But then I of course came to my senses.
Me: Um, Brennan? Did you put those chips in there?
Me: ::deep breaths:: Can you tell me why?
B: ::locks eyes with me with a look of disgust:: Because, MOM. I DON'T like chips with GRASS.
Oh dear Lord. Where did this teenage PMSing girl attitude come from?! I threw the bag onto the kitchen counter and of course we then had a discussion about how he is not to go into the pantry without permission and how he should not leave food around the house for his brothers or the dogs to eat ... which clearly went in one ear and right out the other.
Case in point - a bit later, I went into my bedroom to attempt to tackle the mountain of clothes that had been sitting on my dresser since we returned from MI. Four minutes later, I heard a familiar crinkling sound followed by manic crunching of something in the dogs' mouths. I emerged from my bedroom to find Brennan standing on a barstool, chip bag upside down in his hand, dogs enjoying a nice lunch of chips with grass.
Me: (trying so.damn.hard not to swear) Brennan!!! What are you doing!?
B: MOM. I said I DON'T like CHIPS with GRASS!!
And then I said a little prayer in my head, that went something like - Dear God, please give me the strength not to throw my child out the window. I know I would regret it, and probably go to jail, and I'd really regret that, so please provide me with a moment of peace and serenity and remind me why I love him so much I would die for him.
I lifted him off of the barstool, and he wrapped his arms around me and said, "Mommy, I give you a kiss" and proceeded to shower my face with kisses.
I'm telling you, that God, He's a pretty cool guy.
And the moral of the story? Apparently we are not allowed to have sour cream and onion chips in our house, and if the food dictator finds them, he will eliminate the problem.