Snacks, or, In which I become the blog mom everyone refers to as "the mean one."

A recent study at the University of North Carolina confirms what we all already know:
US children today snack so often they are rapidly moving toward constant eating.
A full 27% of a US child's calories now come from snacks, and we ain't talking carrot sticks and apple slices here.
This is a dangerous trend which has spread like wildfire in the last 20 years, and it leads me to...

If you allow your child to eat during the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass (and trust me, I don't care if you do - I have my hands full here), it would really help if you could try to sit in a pew which is not adjacent to a pew with a toddler in it.
I know there are some for whom this is impossible. Every Mass is jam packed and there are kiddies in every pew. I'm not talking about you.
But there ARE parishes where the Masses are so frequent that you can always find a pew away from others.

Kids are much more likely to behave at Mass if they are not around other kids. (This is why I detest cry rooms, though I know they serve a purpose in infancy.)
And believe it or not, there are some of us who are so unbelievably mean and hateful that we insist that our 3 year olds wait until after Mass to snack.

"Those are the rules," we matter-of-factly and callously tell our starving, emaciated, 90th percentile children who have not eaten since a full hour prior, when it was breakfast time. Weakened from malnutrition, our Dachauesque offspring immediately abandon their fruit snack request and go back to stacking holy cards or inspecting the hat hooks on the backs of the pews. It's the same answer every time they ask, but you've gotta give 'em credit for trying.

It's a wonder someone hasn't reported us to child services.


Anyway, when school-age kids have frosted animal cookies and they're eating them 6" from my toddler, it makes it more confusing for her when I say, "We don't eat in God''s house."
Heck, they were frosted animal cookies. I almost snatched one.

And the kids weren't just eating them. They were dropping them. (Why no, they didn't clean up after Mass.) They were making noises at my kid. They were shoving them in her face. To her credit, she just kept shaking her head and repeating, "No, no, no. Don't do that."
When my kid is more effectively disciplining a 2nd grader than his parents are, there's a problem.

In all seriousness and in case you're wondering (because I have had people ask me):

We decided that when Mary turned two or so, she was old enough to start learning about self-control. After all, this is the age when potty-training starts, this is the age when they learn the word "no", this is the age when they start learning patience.
Because I am one of nine children who never died of starvation during the hour-long Catholic Mass, I can say with certainty that it can be done and it can be taught and it doesn't have to be dramatic or difficult.
But I can also guess that it will be much harder to get an older child to understand why he can no longer snack at Mass than it would have been to just reinforce that behavior to a 2 year old.

There are many places we don't eat: museums, libraries, funerals, symphony halls, standing in line at the DMV, et cetera. Church is just another one of those special places on our list. Kids are quick learners.

Kid running up the aisle in church?
"This is God's house. We don't run here. We run at the playground."

Kid running like a madman in a hospital?
"This is a hospital. There are sick people here. Be quiet and walk nicely. We don't want to make them feel worse."

Kid asking for fruit snacks at Mass?
"We don't eat during Mass. We eat after Mass. That's the rule."

Kid doesn't want to sit in her carseat?
Don't instill some fear of cops ("Daddy will go to jail if you don't sit there") and don't freak them out about accidents ("You'll fly through the windshield if Mommy crashes").
Just explain: "That's the rule. We can't move the car until you're in your seat."

Kids are pretty receptive to the Almighty Rule, even before they know whose rule it is, or even what the devil a rule is to begin with.