Sunday, May 5, 2013

Crazy Cakes

This link appeared on my Facebook page twice today.
Kids snack ideas on steroids.

Cutest little idea I

Look at those perfectly chopped bits of celery made into grassy knolls!
Look at that shredded carrot leprechaun beard!

But, people,
in all seriousness -


do this.

I get that there are parents that do this stuff.
They probably live in D.C. And have precise little blunt-cut bobs with bangs.
They have prized geraniums and
they button their shirts up all the way to the tip-top button.
They have a mail box in the shape of a Corgie.
They wear heels even in sand.
They actually polish their silver utensils and those utensils didn't come from Big Lots.

And they probably never come screeching into the bus circle three minutes late every day still wearing pajama pants with paper plates covered in syrup remnant littering their floorboard.

I know they're out there.

They're the parents of the kids with monogrammed Pottery Barn backpacks.
The parents of boys named Kelsey.
They don't have to Google what a "Spice Kitchen" is.

And I admire it.

I really do.
I WISH I had the free time to volunteer in reading group.
I wish I always drove for a field trip and could yammer off the school schedule with the accuracy of Rainman.
I wish I cared about going to the state level of ANYTHING.
But I don't.
I just CAN'T.

I admire the idea,
But something ALSO rises in me to yell "I'm gonna wreck it!" And to pound each perfectly shaped mini crust-less sandwich with giant Wreck-It-Ralph fists.

But I admire it.

Right before I hate it.

Upon first seeing this picture today, the very first thought I had
(besides telling myself to stop making my "Crazy Face")
was that my kids could never ever know food like this existed.

I ask you,
after eating a miniature cheese chicken nestled under a snap pea palm,
would they ever be happy with just regular FOOD shaped food ever again?

I already feel pushed to the upper limits of my sanity just having to butter four pieces of bread with dinner while they ask for ketchup and tell me their sippie cup "tastes funny," and while they raise the corner of their tiny food critic lips at me when they see what I'm presenting.

Why would someone even DO this to me?!
Why does this photo even EXIST?!


All I can think is that this is some sort of terrorist attack.

Is it not enough to have to pack a regular school lunch when all you can dig from your pantry is the crumbs of some herbed popcorn, a Greek yogurt, and a very questionable zucchini?

I'd like to see what they would make of THAT.
If that was a food picture, I'm pretty sure it would be a tiny edible street in Harlem,
or a person shopping while riding a Lark.

I know I've harped on this before, but America,


I can't even pick CAT FOOD easily anymore.
Should I get chicken, or beef, or salmon, or tuna, or tuna flaked chicken with beef sauce?
Does he like shreds or pâté?
Soufflé, or chunks?
There's GRAVY?!
Is he a regular adult, or a senior adult,or a "mature" adult?
Good grief!
Can I get assistance on isle 13?!
I mean, this is an animal whose tongue and butt regularly collide.
He's not exactly a connoisseur.

Then there are 103 types of squeezie fruits and two full isles of baby wipes?
Why are we coddling them in this way?

I once wondered what that was coming out of Alena's mouth, only to realize it was fly legs.
There's no way she needed eight types of purple beet purée.
She didn't need a PB and J flower.
What she NEEDED was to not ever kiss me with that mouth again,
that's what.

So just STOP.

You're making moms crazy.
You're making Dads afraid of their own wives because "she's making that weird sound again."
You're making kids into over-indulged brats.

Kids don't need food pictures.
I'll give them a picture.
It's of me telling them to
be still and stop wiggling, wnd gagging, and poking their sister's eye, and to eat their dinner and to
just let me sit for



It's weird to eat something that's smiling at you.

No comments:

Post a Comment