Hummus is a great starter dip for toddlers. Not that you’re asking, but it is.
The texture, the taste, the way it holds tightly to a chip once applied all make it easy to eat and enjoy. As someone who was introduced to dips early on in life, this affinity has stayed with me and I’m doing my best to pass it on.
The boy and I share a chip-and-dip based snack at least three times a week.
I prefer hummus because of the reasons listed above and because it’s “healthy.” Recently, he has opted for salsa.
Two days ago, I arrived home to see him enjoying chips and salsa in front of the TV, as if he had anticipated exactly how I wanted to spend my evening.
I sat down to join him and he told me to go away (this is a new trend that I’ve decided to tackle head on by completely ignoring hime very time he says it).
Instead of leaving, I picked up a chip and dipped it in the salsa. Somewhere between the acquisition and delivery of that bite, the chip was forcefully removed from my hand and placed in his mouth.
Fair play, I said. I took a chip from your pile. I will get my own from the bag.
Fighting over chips and dip isn’t new to me. I grew up with six siblings and the rate at which we could dispense a bowl of dip would astound a pack of hyenas. We used to put each other in timeout for spilling even a drop. You may think you know what competitive eating is, but have you ever seen a kid cry watching their siblings finish an appetizer? I have.
With that in mind, I didn’t really think too much of having my chip stolen. I just grabbed another one (from the bag this time). It was when he took that second chip out of my hand and shoved it into his already full mouth that he got my full attention.
The moment you realize you’re raising a version of yourself is shocking. We’ve all walked past an unexpected mirror. It’s like that, except instead of seeing yourself as you are, you see yourself with two full chips in your mouth and salsa sliding down your chin.
It’s an experience that causes you to say, “Wait, is that what I look like?”
Sometimes, these moments remind you of how great you are. When he shares a toy, does something athletic, stops to smell a flower, etc. The boy has my good sides too (otherwise known as his mother’s traits), but mostly, it's embarrassing.
The problem is that if you walk past an actual mirror and notice a blemish, you can fix it. In this case, your reflection prefers to ignore you entirely—making the queen in Snow White seem completely sane.
We weren’t made to argue with mirrors, but I tried anyway.
To the boy’s credit, he listened to my speech on why we share. He just didn’t agree with it. And instead of arguing the point he simply continued his same behavior with the arrogance of someone who knows they’re right and wants to let you figure that out for yourself…Oh no, there I am again.
Surprising yourself with your own reflection once is fine. But a second mirror means you’re in a funhouse and no one actually likes those.
Ideally, this story ends with a positive parenting moment. Something about how I taught him to share or how this moment of self-reflection caused me to examine my own behaviors. Obviously, it doesn’t.
I got my own bowl of salsa. The better half came by later and reached for one of my chips but I moved it away from her hand.
And the boy and I sat next to each other enjoying our same but separate snacks together.
Then, he asked to watch golf and I saw myself again.
Thanks for reading this far.
- jd
And also…
Tom Haverford calls forks food rakes. I call chips edible spoons.
I witnessed a minor car accident this week. One car sideswiped another on a three-lane road, and all I’ve thought about since is if anyone went back to pick up the sideview mirror that came off. Whose job is that?
I love the smell of grass, but not when it’s in a glass of wine
Sharing a hobby with friends is one of life’s greatest pleasures.
I’m struggling to see the end game for anyone playing Survivor right now. I’m worried they’re all playing it too safe and that no one will stand out in the end. I also know that if I were playing, I’d probably make a lot of the same decisions.
