This is not a direct true story, thankfully, but I think it points out that the behaviors we dislike seeing in our children are often just a reflection of what we ourselves are doing, even if we don’t realize (or want to acknowledge) it. Do as I say, not as I do!
On an overly self-critical note: what’s up with that arm in panel two? I think that might be the worst appendage I’ve ever drawn in the strip. Good grief.
Most days I think my wife likes being a mom; she of course loves our kids and would do anything for them. While I believe they do love her as well, based strictly on the evidence that they can’t be bothered to pick their own dirty socks up off the floor, I’m not so sure they would do anything for her. That doesn’t change anything, but it sure is obvious that “mom” has to be among the most thankless jobs ever in the history of the human race. It’s a wonder women everywhere haven’t protested and ended the whole species by now.
It’s just SO easy to sit down with a box of cookies, a bag of chips or pint of ice cream, power it down and THEN looking at the serving suggestion. Too late.
On a side note, I must have been running a bit too close to deadline with this one. What is that odd, nebulous white space off to the right? It’s like the end of the comic strip universe just drops off over there or something. Weird.
Admittedly it was quite a while ago, but one of our kids handed us an “Easter List” one year. When did Easter become like Christmas when gifts are exchanged? That only happened once, but it was memorable enough to inspire this cartoon.
Do not adjust your eyes, this strip really is a little on the gray side. If memory serves I had just bought a new scanner, wasn’t familiar with the software and up against a deadline. It’s been four years now, I should get around to cleaning it up some day. Maybe tomorrow. Anyway, this one is based on real events and the adventures of our over-eating pug.
For as smart as we think we are, it’s a rare day indeed when parents can sneak something into a kid’s diet. They can ignorantly walk by an overflowing basket of laundry to be folded, or a crying dog standing at the door, but put an onion or anything green on to a pizza and alarms are going off all over town. Yes, I was a kid once, and admittedly I was probably THE pickiest eater on the entire planet, but that doesn’t make it any easier to understand now.
You know you’ve been there. The child is sick, you feel bad for them, but you dread the very thought of catching whatever sickness of the week they dragged home. You know you’re getting it one way or another. Don’t fight it.