I’m not proud of it, but I have the propensity to eat 12 Oreos in a sitting – with a full glass of milk – and enjoy it. I love any form of baked good; I can’t think of any exception.
But it occurs to me today (after having eaten a dozen Oreos – with milk – last night) that too many Oreos is too many. Today I feel sluggish, even a bit sick. I’m guessing it’s a sugar hangover of sorts. Oh, because I also followed the Oreos with chocolate and peanut butter. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
So today as I ponder my self-onset malaise while attempting to reverse it with generous amounts of water and protein, I find my thoughts applying this “too much is too much” philosophy to other situations.
The one that’s sticking in my brain, is fun. As parents, is too much fun for our kids too much?
My sister and I recently were reminiscing about all the times as kids we were expected to sit and patiently, respectfully wait for our parents – at meetings, rehearsals, work, social gatherings, etc. And we never were promised anything for that good behavior. It simply was expected.
But oh, the joy of the occasional “Want to go out for ice cream?” It was bliss, in great part because it was unexpected.
As a parent, I find that I’ve naturally wanted to duplicate that joy for my own kids. But I think maybe I’ve done it too often. Ice cream one day. Out for lunch the next. And then I’m ever-so-baffled when, with malaise, they respond, “I don’t care,” or – reprehensibly – “Can’t we just go home?”
Shocking to me. But it occurs to me maybe they’ve had a dozen Oreos one too many times and it’s not, well, much fun anymore. Too much fun has become too much.
Like the crisp blue 70-degree day we tell each other we wish we could wake up to every day. Do we really? Would we appreciate it or just begin to take it for granted?
Food for thought, anyway. Sorry for the pun. I’m off to eat a can of tuna.
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