The Blues

My Mother Told Me

On June 9, 2010, in Family, by Rosie

Pop Jones is a gobbler.

Her older sibling savours food as though it is the most sublime thing in the entire world, while Pop has already finished, has come up for air, and declared the verdict for all to hear: ‘still hungry’, or ‘full.’

It’s been reported that if Pop goes to the movies with a kindly relative, she will sit on one side of this aunt, while her sibling sits the other. This loving auntie will hold the jumbo-sized popcorn in her lap and proceed to watch the film (she doesn’t eat popcorn! Too many carbs, too salty, too poppish, too corny). Pip will reach out to take nibbles of the popcorn and spend moments with eyes agog, watching the film as though mesmerized by the taste/visual combo feast.

Pop gobbles. She’s a multi-tasking, eating-laughing-bubbly-’give-me-more’ machine. Her shorter arms reach directly into her auntie’s popcorned lap, scrunching as many of the little crisps of salt and crunch she can manage. Then, the fist-full presses back into her face with the intensity and durability of a bobcat at work on excavating a backyard.

When Pop’s stomach has well and truly matched her eyes, she claims that she’s ‘full, and so very thirsty’, so will squirm in her seat needing a drink of water for the rest of the film.

She’s kind, though. She leaves the remnants of unpopped corn in the bottom of the container for her sibling and aunt to enjoy during the latter stages of the film.

With this in mind, I have been lecturing discussing pleasant eating etiquette with Pop over the last little while.

You can imagine my alarm when Pop came home from a party a couple of months ago and announced that she’d eaten ‘heaps of cocktail franks, most of the sausage rolls, and finished off Eliza’s pancakes and ice-cream cake when she got full!’

It was one of those moments when a maternal cringe is much like the Titanic – huge and overwhelming and accompanied by that sinking feeling. Even though one (yeah, that’d be me) tries to remember that one’s child (Pop) is no reflection of oneself (me) — in fact, she is her own little gobbling person — I was aghast!

What if she was never invited to a soiree again? What if other parents thought she was the greediest, Veruca Salt-like girl they’d ever met? What if they saw me the next day, munching voraciously on some lunch, nodded sagely and said to each other ‘no wonder the girl eats the way she does. Look at her mother!’

What if she’s teased?

When all is said and done, who really cares? Pop is a gorgeous girl who is enthusiastic about everything — just that if you’re arm was a strand of spaghetti and your hair was bolognese sauce, you’d be ravaged, but hey? So what?

Still, me being moi, I decided to give her a reminder about sharing and savouring food and waiting until everyone has something before she has fifths. On the way to a recent after school birthday party, I channeled highlights of my own mum’s favourite expressions:

• Just because something is not nailed down, you don’t have to eat it.

• Make sure there is enough for everyone.

• You don’t have to be first to everything — if there’s a bowl of cocktail franks, just take one and wait a while.

• eat with your mouth closed, don’t spit, don’t make oral noises, don’t snort, and always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’

Pop Jones ran into the party as though I’d told her there was pasta on the table and everyone had started and they were all nearly up to their lolly bags and cake! I had a Titanic moment, chatted to some other parents (who might be wondering if I’d eat their arm) and then left the party. Pick up time was a couple of hours later.

Driving home after collecting Pop from the party, I heard she and Pip talking in the back seat. Pip was saying things like ‘Really? Is that all?’ and when I looked in the rear-vision mirror, I could see Pop nodding and looking at me.

‘Everything okay?’ I asked the girls. ’Sounds like a fun party!’ (It did! Games and dress ups and lots of activities.’

‘Mum!’ The older, indignant Pip said. ’Pop is really hungry. She’s going to need you to make some dinner for her too!’

I was confused. It was dinner time, but the party parents had offered to feed the troops before sending them home. ’Oh?’

‘I only ate one of everything!’ said a small voice from the back. ’One cocktail frankfurt, one squeeze of sauce (FFS!) one jelly baby, one french fry (you’ve gotta be kidding me?) one cheezel and one sip of drink.’

‘Why?’ I asked, already knowing the answer to the question.

‘I was waiting for everybody else to have some before I took more.’

Well Pop Jones may not have stuffed anything in during that party, but her mother sure stuffed that one up.

I didn’t have to worry long. As soon as we got home, the gobbler returned. With gutso … sorry, gusto.