My daughter lives in a residential home, but she comes back to stay with us quite often. Sometimes we go away for a few days to our small holiday home by the lake. It’s nowhere near any shops and so it’s relatively easy when there are only three of us, to keep tabs on the food intake. Except for the occasions when I slip up.
It might go like this: (on the long drive home, stopped for coffee and early lunch)
Conversation goes like this:
Me: What would you like? Coffee? And a sandwich?
Her: I’ll pay for myself.
Me: But I’m happy to pay for you.
Her: No; I want to help out, so I’ll pay for myself.
Bearing in mind that this is day 14 of a long holiday break and I am tired, eager to get home and quite eager for the daughter to go back to her own home, too. I give in. Her father and I have a coffee and small salad roll. She arrives at the table with a trim latte in what looks like a soup cup, and a brown grain bread sandwich. Healthy enough. Lunch over, we get back in the car.
Then she starts to talk, and, for the next several miles the conversation goes like this:
Her: Well, that was good, wasn’t it Mum? Healthy option, wasn’t it?
Me: Yes, it was.
Her: The chicken was nice and fresh, wasn’t it?
Me: Yes, it was.
Her: I trust that place for good food, don’t you, Mum?
Me: Yes, I do.
Her: I asked if they had ham, or salad, but they only had chicken sandwiches.
Me: (tiredly, and about to miss the clue) Ohh.
Her: I nearly had something sweet. Mum?
Me: Well, good choice that you didn’t.
Her: (and here it comes…) Yes. They had really nice stuff in the cabinet, too. So I just had a piece of ginger shortbread.
Me: (wide awake now) Hmmm. What? I didn’t see that!?
Her: I ate it while I was coming to the table. But I thought it was nice to be able to help you out, what with all you buy me, wasn’t it, Mum? Mum?
Sigh. Missed it again.