Daddy doesn't share food.
I knew this before I married Matt. He hates sharing food with anyone. He is, with no exaggeration, like Joey from Friends and will scowl if anyone, adult or child, attempts to take even a single chip from his plate. A tapas style meal is his idea of hell.
I am, usually, the opposite. I don't mind sharing - everyone knows that food tastes better from someone else's plate, right?
I let both my kids try food that is on my plate. I want them to explore different tastes and be 'good' eaters so I'll let them try anything. Even if that is a bit of Nandos Peri Peri sauce, much to the horror of the lady at the next table (sorry about that Lily, I did warn you).
But Matt will ignore any doe-eyed glances at his meal, move his arm protectively around his plate and calmly but firmly say "No" to pleading requests.
And lately, I've been wishing that I could do the same.
I just want to be able to finish my own food.
I want to be able to make some breakfast, or a cup of tea, without a little voice telling me that they're hungry too (despite having just finished their own breakfast).
I'd like to eat a sandwich, or a cake, or a packet of crisps, or even one bloody rich tea biscuit, without having to break bits off and give to Ollie or Lily (usually both).
And, maybe because Matt has never set up a precedent, it's always my food that they want.
Ollie has even taken to refusing the food on his plate in favour of whatever is on mine - even if I have served up exactly the same thing.
Does he think I'm his own personal food taster? That the food on my plate must be OK/poison free/safe to eat because I have tried it first and am still here to tell the tale?
Perhaps my plate is imbued with magical properties that makes my food taste superior to all others?
I guess I will never know.
You could argue that by eating my food my children are, in fact, helping me in a quest to lose weight. In the same way that running around after them is increasing my fitness levels and showering quickly is helping to conserve water...
And yet, I doubt that they are eating the best bits off my plate for altruistic reasons.
Today I served Ollie's lunch next to mine on the plate. It worked, in that he ate it happily thinking it was mine. But then Lily came over and pinched the last of my cucumber sticks. She still had three on her plate. I nearly cried.
I dread to think what would've happened if it had been a Yorkshire pudding... or cake.
Something will have to change.
But in the meantime, I'm going to hide under my desk to eat a packet of Wotsits before the kids wake from their nap and hear me munching.