The Hunger Strike

I pick Emerson up most weekdays from her school. Oh, remind me to post about the school drama someday. Anyhow, I grab her up one day as she’s sprinting down the hall to the water fountain, and I give chase in my boots, hands full of school papers, projects and glitter (oh, the glitter). Rounding her up, she insists on opening the door with her mighty muscles on her own. Our ritual complete, we get to the Buick where she always inquires, “what do you have for me?”

I’m expected to bring a snack on days that I’m late. No snack on days I’m on time. As you can guess, I’m peanut butter-crackering to appease her often.

This particular Wednesday, E.K. states that she doesn’t want my offering. She “wants to stay this size”.

Okay, I’ll bite. I get this explanation:

Mom says she doesn’t want me to ever grow older because she loves me like this. I told Ms. Tiffany that I want to stay this way forever so I can be a Super Kid. So I don’t want to eat. That way I can stay this size.

I certainly had some concerns about that especially when she lost 1 lb. But she was just being her normal, wonderful self and entertaining everyone.

We went home. Mom made pasta. E.K. gained her 1 lb back easily.

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