Snack Attack

*A bit of fiction I whipped up. Or maybe it isn't fiction. You decide.*

This is an all time low, friends. I am writing this blog from under my dining room table. She can't see me here. She heard the familiar crinkle of the 100-Calorie Snack Packs I was opening. Then I heard her stomp down the stairs, sniffing like a bloodhound and calling innocently, "Mommy! I want a snack, too!" But I'm as quiet as a mouse, eating just a nibble at a time in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to finish the snack before Morgan takes her "tax".

At just a year old she had memorized the Nestlé yellow- that familiar chocolate chip bag with the tantalizing zipper opening for easy access. "I want chocolate, too, " she would say, watching me sneak a few chips in a hidden corner of the kitchen. Rats. Caught. It's hard to say "What chocolate?" with my mouth full. I paid her in full lest she blackmail me.

Today she has had me on the go all day, hunting me down. My preschooler has a strange Pavlovian response whenever she sees me: she suddenly remembers that she wants a sippy and a snack. But I want a snack, too. I must be wise. Whatever I put on my plate, she will want, too. Must be conniving. Baby carrots or chips?

My hairdresser tipped me off today. Said that she took her nieces to the movies intending to buy them popcorn. She brought herself baby carrots for a healthy snack. Sniffing a veggie in a dark room seemed impossible, but they found her out. Took all her carrots. Left her with the popcorn. Which she ate.

It's feast or famine. For now, I lay in wait for the ambush. Remember me.