It’s hard being a parent. You want to teach your kids right from wrong, set a good example, and raise good humans.
However, if you are anything like me, there’s another part of you that bends the rules more often than not. It could be smaller things, like:
- Letting your car drift 5 miles over the speed limit.
- Going in through an out door.
- Saying your kid is 2 at Disney when they just turned 3 last week because you don’t want to drop $900 on a pass for them yet.
You know. Little things.
Your kids see you bend the rules, and that’s not exactly setting the best example. But some rules feel more like suggestions. At least in my mind.
My older kids get it. They don’t just see black and white. They see the shades of gray. My 6-year-old, not so much. Any time we bend the rules, just a smidge, she freaks out. Not in a way that requires medical intervention or anything. Her voice climbs into a whine as she questions every possible consequence and why we’re breaking the rules in the first place. Just enough of a response to make you feel equal parts guilty and annoyed at your life choices.
Case in point: the night of the chicken breast sandwiches. My 15-year-old daughter Scarlett had a high school soccer game at 6:30 one evening. I had my oldest, Gianna, in the car with me along with Evie (the rule-obsessed six-year-old), and Marina (I’ll-eat-anything-anywhere three-year-old). We were en route to the game with empty bellies and decided to stop at Chick-fil-A on the way to the school. I warned them all ahead of time that they didn’t allow outside food or drink at the stadium so they would have to consume their peanut-oil-fried chicken parts before we got out of the car.
Arriving at the game, we faced the obvious dilemma that neither of the little ones had finished their food. Yet, of course, they were both still hungry. Gianna and I tried logic first with these dictators.
You can save it and finish it when we get back to the car, OR we can try to sneak it into the game. I had a clear bag with me and I could try to hide the sandwiches in there. My plan was to arrange them in between the coloring books and markers. Trouble was, someone could still search my bag, find our poultry contraband, and make us toss it in the trash.
Evie faced the chicken-choice dilemma of 2026, my friends. She couldn’t wait to eat but she couldn’t break the RULES. She continued to agonize over the choice. Sneak the chicken in and risk losing it? Sneak it in and risk getting caught breaking the RULES? Waiting for the sandwich was clearly off the table. Patience isn’t exactly in Evie’s repertoire, after all.
Marina was game for sneaking in the sandwiches. “Put the chicken in the bag,” she said. She couldn’t have cared less. The pros outweighed the cons and she was apparently very confident in my smuggling abilities. After all, she has seen my purse going into the movie theater. The amount of candy I can condense into my shoulder bag is impressive.
This back-and-forth with Evie lasted a few minutes, and we were all getting annoyed at the lack of progress. I just wanted her to make a decision. Marina’s chicken was already in the bag, resting next to the Paw Patrol themed coloring book, which meant that if Evie left hers in the car, she’d have to watch her sister eat. The choices. The agony.
Now, I didn’t expect to pinpoint the exact moment I’d realize my 19-year-old daughter, Gianna, was going to be a great mother. But it happened this night in the span of 3 minutes or less when I watched her take action. I was still trying to negotiate with Evie like this was a hostage situation when Gianna apparently had enough. She grabbed both foil-wrapped chicken sandwiches and confidently shoved them into her bra.
Well, now there’s a solution I hadn’t thought of.
The clear bag wouldn’t necessarily conceal the contraband chicken, but I’ll be damned if you could tell she had two #1’s in her bra.
In that moment, I couldn’t have been prouder. Gianna has always been a great big sister to these two, and I knew she was trying to make them both happy, even if it meant her bra smelled like a fast-food restaurant for the rest of the night.
She smuggled two Chick-fil-A sandwiches into the soccer game with no one the wiser. Evie was still panicking as we approached check-in, asking if we should tell them we had chicken on us. But then I could point out how ridiculous that would be to call out her sister for having food in her bra.
Evie decided that was fair. Apparently, we had finally broken her down.
I will say that despite her fear of getting caught, that child enjoyed her chicken sandwich under the stadium lights. She positioned herself on the far side of Gianna, trying to hide her chews from the check-in stand a hundred yards away. Marina, on the other hand, held her sandwich high, apparently unconcerned that anyone might confiscate it.
Someday, Evie might appreciate that her big sister risked public humiliation to make sure she got to eat her chicken sandwich. Or maybe she’ll grow up and become a stadium security guard.
Enjoy stories like this?
I’ve got plenty more questionable parenting moments to share in WELL, THIS IS HARD (that’s what she said): An Unfiltered Guide to Raising Good Humans, Including Yourself.