Snack Attack

Due to recent sugar attacks around the country, it is important to familiarize yourself with safety tips designed to protect you and any sugary snack in your possession. The next strike could happen anywhere and at any time of day, although a remarkable amount of activity takes place during the American Idol audition shows. Amazingly, unidentified sources claim that more than 50% of attacks happen in your own home. I personally discovered this through a traumatic incident involving my recliner couch.

One night as I reclined lazily on the couch taking in a rousing game of Wheel of Fortune and making a sport of guessing what sort of fashion abomination Vanna would exploit that particular evening, I casually tore a tiny corner from a snack-size candy bar. Immediately, three starving dogs, two ravenous teenagers, and a fluffy kitten on the Atkins diet took up strategic positions around the den, blocking all exits and creating an impassable moat made of drool. I can’t be sure because of the size involved, but I think the kitten was wearing a SWAT team uniform.

Ordinarily I am not a violent person, but I would not hesitate to de-kidney anyone who tried to steal my Almond Joy. Still, I couldn’t believe snack-theft could happen to me. Don’t wait until you’re a victim. Follow my tips and hang on to your Twinkie when times get tough.

1. Find an easily defensible location for snacking. The bathroom may appear to be safe, but chocolate-deprived bandits may well charge the door, forcing you to flush the goods. Instead, pick a low-traffic location such as the laundry room. The predator’s natural fear of enforced sock-cuffing or towel-folding will provide natural protection.

2. Should a family member or other assailant approach you for a bite of your Kit Kat bar, do not give it to him. Distract him by throwing the wrapper over his head. While he is checking the paper for melted chocolate and toffee bits, escape over the couch. Run in a zig zag pattern to avoid tripping over the dog who is undoubtedly lingering in the area and will begin a lateral defense in an attempt to snag free-falling crumbs.

3. Try not to eat in a populated, well-lit area, such as the kitchen where, more than likely, stray family members, assorted door-to-door salesmen, and a nice selection of neighbor’s kids are hanging onto the refrigerator door staring balefully into the freezer chanting “Klondike Bar. Klondike Bar.”

4. Women have a tendency to sit in their recliners and open a Snickers bar while they chat on the phone or balance their checkbook. Never do this. Distraction is the open window of opportunity for a chocolate thief. Trudge into the dining room mumbling random comments about polishing the silver. As soon as the door swings shut, pop that candy bar into your mouth like it was a chocolate covered Chiclet.

5. Sometimes, even with proper precautions, your territory may be breached by the enemy. If the predator has a weapon, please be cautious. A baby with a wet diaper should be taken seriously. Take time to tuck the candy bar into your underwear drawer in order to avoid a stressful situation at the changing table. In some instances, chocolate has been known to serve as an unwitting player in a game of biological warfare.

Even after all of these precautions it may, in some instances, be easier to share. Unless it involves Girl Scout cookies. Then it’s every man for himself.

Especially if he’s a girl.

The Why Factor

A recent article in Newsweek, a magazine for people who want to appear smart without reading really clever things like, say, Green Eggs and Ham, discusses a study that indicates having children doesn’t make a couple any happier than a couple who has no children to leave the refrigerator door open. Also the childless couple is free to have a nice martini when they get home from work instead of cleaning baby poop out of the blender. (Don't ask; just keep an emergency cash stash that covers the cost of a new blender.)

Which leads to several very important questions; namely, does Amy really read Newsweek? Actually I can’t even make it through Green Eggs and Ham without getting distracted by subplots and theme, but I do get a kick out of the Captain Underpants books, especially the Flip-o-rama on the corners of the pages.

Who said my degree in English wouldn’t come in handy?

There is an obvious flaw in this Child McStudy, which assumes that we have children in the first place so that they will make us happy. That’s like buying bait to eat at the seafood buffet.

So why have kids, if the result is a house full of naked Barbies when the pastor comes to visit or painful Lego injuries when strolling barefoot through the shag?

We have children to remember our address and phone number when we fill out registration forms at the Social Security office, to bring us our glasses from the bedroom when it would take the jaws of life to extract us from the couch, and to bring a diaper when the baby/grandbaby/neighbor’s kid/unhousebroken puppy needs a change and leaving him alone would bring the Social Services SWAT team and/or PETA people repelling down the chimney.

I’m not saying I haven’t had good times with my children. I have a son with a flair for entertainment who keeps us amused by using the living room furniture as an obstacle course. He makes the living room look like a pinball machine as he ricochets from wall to floor lamp to desk to invisible air molecules on his way through to the kitchen. Of course, this particular skill tends toward the expensive side when you consider the medical bills. Even Lloyd’s of London won’t insure this kid.

We could derive a good deal of glee from the act of punishing the children--except all the good punishments are illegal and cause waxy yellow buildup or require harsh chemicals, like soap.
All the low-level punishments; grounding, withholding phone privileges, and storing away video games merely results in our own discomfiture, as children seem to multiply when underfoot, and the whining index increases throughout the house. After a while even the children get restless.

So are parents happy? Not every second. But there’s not a greater satisfaction than seeing a child’s face light up when you walk into his classroom with a tray full of Batman birthday cupcakes, when you get an A on a Botany project that helped you learn in a serious way how poison ivy can affect your personal life, or when you see a young man walk across the stage to accept a high school diploma that it took a village—and some late night tutoring sessions and heavy-duty prayers—to secure.

Just don’t forget to make one of those prayers the Parent’s Prayer—“Please be sure that he grows up to have a child just like him.”

But don't forget. He's going to ask you to babysit.