note to self:

Sending the little Bump into the bedroom with a handful of Twizzlers while you try to sneak the last piece of the vegan cheesy pizza goodness, that was last night's dinner, never works.

He will pick that moment to become very hygiene conscience. And absolutely refuse to stay in that dang room until he scrubs his hands. clean. at. least. a. hundred. billion. times.

And asks you, repeatedly, for help in his endeavor.

So, the relaxing lunch, that you so meanly decided was too good to share with the poor kid will not be enjoyable what-so-ever, but instead go something like this:

Door opens.

Hide food.

Bumpo asks for lunch.

Send him back into bedroom with new sugary snack.

Door opens, again.

You quickly swallow your mouthful of food.

Answer Bumpo's question, and send him away.

Decide that the door is just going to keep opening and eat faster.

Door opens, again.

Bumpo needs help with hands, AGAIN.

Help him.

Send him back into bedroom, shut door.

Retrieve pizza from hiding place.

Devour last little bit.

Decide it's best to make your son a decent lunch instead of the sugar-based lunch you sent him away with.

Peak in on him, spy him banging his head against the bed, while kicking his feet madly, realize the sugar rush has already started. Curse yourself for being so darn mean.

Decide this would make a great blog post.

Sit down, open laptop and begin to write.

Forget about making the kid something to eat.

Door opens, again.

Bumpo: "MOM, I want lunch!"

Continue to type out post.

Send Bumpo away.

Read that last line and realize that you REALLY need to make the poor kid some food. After all, he's still shut in the bedroom with a two pound bag of twizzlers. And, he's HUNGRY!

Secretly look forward to the sugar crash that is bound to happen.