Snack

You'd think I would learn. I have spent a lot of time out with Logan. We've gone to many, many parks, playgrounds, play-groups, play-dates. We've gone multiple times to the zoo, the children's museum, the mall, this store, that store, restaurants, bookstores, train-table-places—in other words, we have lived among the world, people. We are out there.

And I'm a good mom. I am. I pay attention to my children. I (usually) listen when Logan is talking. I read books to him. Sometimes I yell, but at least I always feel badly about it. I praise him when he accomplishes something. I try and let him figure things out for himself. I make sure he gets exercise, nutritious foods, no TV, etc.

And yet there is one thing with which I am still not up to speed. Picture it: We are at the zoo. The day is bright, sunny, a few clouds drifting lazily overhead, a light breeze coming in off the lake. The animals are meandering about, Logan is energized and ready to run—all is as it should be.

And then it hits. Usually about 10:00-10:30am. They come from the hills, bearing Tupperware containers and juice boxes. They drag out insulated lunch boxes and individual packages of crackers. They have fruits and vegetables all cut up into perfect bite-sized portions. They have organic granola bars, string cheese, trail mix with raisins. They are the Snack Moms.

And...there's me. Holding Logan's sippy cup of plain water while he gazes longingly at the lucky, lucky children sitting on benches as their mothers lavish upon them animal crackers and veggie puffs.

My friend Suzanne is an amazing Snack Mom. When we are out, she always has something healthy and plentiful in her bag - dried cherries, almonds, clementines, crackers. When we go to her house, it's a veritable cornucopia of elegant snacks - croissants, cinnamon buns, chocolate cookies from the bakery. Logan adores her.

But me? I am...I confess...a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad Snack Mom.

It's not that I don't want to give him snacks. I don't mind snacks (as long as they're nutritious and not consumed too close to lunch or dinner). It's just that it's not one of the things at the forefront of my mind when we go out—it's way behind water, hats, sunscreen, wallet, keys. I just forget. He's always eaten more than enough at breakfast and lunch that I figure a snack isn't really necessary.

And yet—oh, the joy it brings him when he actually DOES get a snack. Usually from another mom. Because I forgot. So when we joined a new Moms group for a play-group at the park, about halfway through the morning out came the drinks and snacks. And my beloved only son looked up at me with his luminous dark eyes and said plaintively, "Mommy, I want a snack."

I gulped, remembering that I'd even managed to leave his water in the car. "Uh, I don't have a snack."

"But I want one."

I patted his head and whispered, "We'll go home and have lunch soon."

"But I'm hungry."

I could feel the stares. I was frantically trying to think of another way to placate him when another mom took pity on me and said sweetly, "Would Logan like a fruit bar?"

Would Logan like a fruit bar? Is winter in Wisconsin cold?

"Logan," I said before he could lunge for the fruit bar box like a tackling football player. "Would you like a fruit bar?"

"Yes," he said, and I swear I heard foreshadowing of a teenager's "what do you think" tone of voice.

The other mom handed over the fruit bar, to my profuse thanks and Logan's endless relief. I will go to sleep at nights thinking must bring snack, must bring snack, good lord, don't forget the kid's snack.

My new aspiration, in addition to best-selling author – Outstanding Snack Mom.