A frequent critique of today’s kids is that they’re soft. Pampered. Ill-equipped to tackle the challenges of adulthood. Part of me finds this assessment infuriating, yet another part can’t help but nod in agreement. I’m grateful my children haven’t had to endure war, hunger, or serious dangers—beyond the occasional spider—but I worry that when real challenges do arise, they might not be prepared. And guess what? When those moments come, what might not be available? Snacks.
That’s right, parents. This is a genuine issue: the expectation that a snack should magically appear in our children’s hands every half hour is turning them into entitled little beings. It’s not just that they think snacks are a meal, but they believe they’re an essential part of life.
I’ve begrudgingly adapted to the post-game and post-practice snack culture. You know the one. If your child participates in any sport or physical activity for more than 30 minutes, you’re practically obligated to volunteer to bring snacks for the team. I’m still unsure how this became a norm. When I was a kid, after three hours of play, our parents might toss us a few Cheerios, and that was it. But here we are in 2016, living life in suburbia.
The evolving snack demands don’t stop there. Just when I thought I was getting the hang of things with Gatorade and cookies, I was introduced to the snack bag. After my 3-year-old’s “game” (and let’s be honest, it’s a loose term), he now receives a bag filled with a juice box and at least two snacks, like pretzels and fruit snacks. A snack bag for toddlers who mostly just stand around! But hey, I went along with it.
Then, just last week, I dropped my 5-year-old off at art camp. This camp lasts a mere 90 minutes, is indoors, and falls snugly between breakfast and lunch (which seems to have been lost in the snack epidemic). I walked her in, fully dressed, and at check-in, the instructor said, “You can leave her snack on the counter.”
“What?” I asked. “I need to bring a snack for her?”
“Well, you don’t have to, but you can if you’d like,” she replied.
I looked at the counter, which was lined with nine snacks waiting in eager anticipation. There are 10 kids in the class—do the math.
I didn’t think for a second that my daughter needed a snack (she had just eaten breakfast 11 minutes prior), and being the frugal mom I am, I figured she should be creating masterpieces for the full 90 minutes I paid for. Still, I didn’t want to embarrass her, especially being my only daughter and middle child, often overshadowed by her older brother’s adventures and her younger brother’s tantrums.
“There’s a vending machine downstairs if you want to grab something,” the instructor suggested.
Perfect. I checked out the vending machine, which, of course, only accepts cash—because it’s 2016, right? My purse was devoid of any physical currency. But I refused to give up! Surely, there’s some loose change lurking beneath the sea of granola bar wrappers in my van.
The boys and I embarked on a brave quest, digging under seats and retrieving random nickels that were stuck to the carpet by ancient fruit roll-ups. One child triumphantly unearthed a quarter, but our celebration was short-lived when we realized it was a Chuck E. Cheese token. After a dedicated search, we finally gathered enough change to buy their sister a snack. Teamwork makes the dream work!
We then drove around aimlessly for an hour (since we didn’t have time to run home), and returned to pick her up. She burst out of the doors, beaming with excitement, clutching the popcorn from the vending machine that she didn’t even have a moment to eat.
Tomorrow, I’ll pack her a “real snack” for her 90-minute indoor art camp. Here’s hoping tomorrow’s craft is a “Mom of the Year” necklace because let’s face it, I could use one.