At the Movies: A Mom/Daughter Lesson in Sharing
When the film industry deigns to release a G or PG movie that we can take Isabella to see ... hurrah! Oh, how we cheer. We see them all. I even went to see WALL-E ... it was not as horrible as I thought it would be, given that I detest movies about robots and movies with apocalyptic themes. (Um, gee, sounds like a riot! End of life as we know it! Bring it on!) I didn’t have to actually take a nap like I did in Horton Hears a Who.
As a side note: the only other time I’ve ever fallen asleep in the movies in my life. I was pregnant and could sleep anywhere, under any circumstances ... and had no other way to escape from the long, horrible middle of Star Wars 5 or whatever. Actually I guess it was Star Wars 2—the second, awful precursor one. Give me Harrison Ford and Princess Leia or just forget about it. I remember waking up right in the middle of Natalie Portman and what-his-name’s big melodramatic love scene, giggling, and going right back to sleep.
So, right. We love going to the movies, but do not love spending a minimum of $75 including a babysitter, so whenever a kid’s movie comes out, we’re there. And Isabella and I have gotten into the habit of sharing a box of Raisinettes, one of my favorite foods. Yes, I consider those a food. I’d prefer to have my own box all to my piggy self, but I don’t want Isabella to eat a whole box, so we share. It’s just one of the sacrifices I make (insert sweeping music here) in the name of Isabella’s health.
Over the weekend, we of course went to go see Kit Kittredge, and of course got a box of Raisinettes to share. My MO is to pour some out into a separate container (or my pocket or whatever—classy, I know) for myself, and then give Isabella the box—otherwise we can have a mid-movie conflict about who’s eating too fast. So there I was, pouring some out for myself, when I was suddenly struck with a worrisome thought: was I giving myself more because I didn’t want Isabella to eat too much chocolate … or because I’m a greedy Raisinette-hogging machine?
These are the things I worry about.
By April Daniels Hussar
Photo courtesy of BettyConfidential