I’ve written previously about how difficult it can be convincing Miles to eat regular meals, and an unfortunate consequence of this is that he frequently leaves us with no choice but to limit his take of precious, precious snack foods. While we’ve tried to be as explicit as possible in linking one to the other (ie, “If you don’t eat your meat, you can’t have any pudding”), the very suggestion that he won’t be getting chocolate, cookies, etc in the near future is usually enough to send him into a fit of despair, during which he will not be reasoned with.
If this were as simple as “Miles doesn’t get a snack. Oh well,” I’d be fine with it. However, Miles not getting snacks often means no one gets a snack, not without waking the wailing, irrational beast within him and having to once again fruitlessly attempt to link his previous behavior with the consequences he now faces. But I’m an adult, dammit, and I haven’t slogged through four decades for some pint-sized so-and-so to tell me when I can and can’t eat a damned cookie.
But the sound of a wrapper, the crinkle of a bag and Miles will know exactly what food we’re trying to eat and race over to try to get down on it. He’s stolen entire protein bars from us this way. As such, it is with a small degree (honestly, probably not enough) shame that I admit that I’ve had to take up “snacking in the pantry” in the middle of the day. Now that most of our food is housed in a tiny room under the stairs, it’s easier than ever, albeit slightly less dignified, to huddle behind a closed door and munch on snack food behind Miles’s back.
One day I’m sure he’ll start making the logical connections between actions and consequences (despite our exhaustion, we won’t stop reinforcing it), but in the meantime, if I have to eat cereal straight from the box in a room like the one Harry Potter grew up in, so be it.