Self-Service

A frequent complaint of mine about Melissa has to do with her attitude about food. Even when she was tiny she was all about feeding herself. She would slide a chair up to the cupboard and scale the Mt. Everest of the shelves to reach the Fruit Loops, even if I was right there in the kitchen next to her. She doesn't want to triangulate with me around her food. So nowadays it is commonplace to see her foraging in the refrigerator or pantry for something to munch on. If I ask her if she wants help, she always declines. "No, thanks, I'm just fine, heh." The little laugh on the end of the sentence is intended to put me at ease, and hopefully, make me go away. The pantry might be well-stocked, but if there are not certain items available it might as well belong to Mother Hubbard. I keep individual tuna cups, string cheese, bacon, bagels, and peanut butter on hand all the time. Popsicles are a favorite, and so are Ritz crackers. Bananas disappear, and so does Wonder Bread, a loaf at a time, becoming toast and P.B.J.'s. I can manage to get her to eat roasted chicken breast, as long as it is the only thing on the plate, and has no sauce or skin. Or chicken strips, as long as they are from a Carl's Jr. drive thru. Little Caesar's "Cheese-Sauce Pizza" is the only kind she will eat. Sometimes grapes, but mostly not. Sometimes applesauce.
Eating is one of those activities she prefers to do in private, and she would prefer we would stick to that habit as well. Especially her little brother. She can't handle the slurping and smacking noises he makes when he is enjoying his breakfast. Even from an entirely different room. One day I was in my bedroom and heard this exchange between Melissa and James, who were not even in the same area as each other.
James: (eating cereal happily in front of SpongeBob) "Slurp...."
Melissa (shrieking from her bedroom) : "EWWWW!!!! Stop that awful chewing noise! Stop that eating!!!"
James: (incredulously) "Do you want me to DIE!!!!????"
Me: (wearily) "Sigh . . . "