A husband and wife had been married for 65 years. Their children threw them a lovely anniversary party, with an elaborate meal, a beautiful cake, many, many toasts for their continued happiness and health for many more years.
Late in the evening, after they had returned home, they both needed a snack before they turned in, so the husband offered to make some toast. His wife, who was tired and rather overwhelmed after their big day, sat at the kitchen table watching him.
The toaster popped, he took the two pieces out, he buttered them, and brought them to the table. He handed his wife the plate with the well-buttered end piece, and took the well-buttered middle piece for himself.
His wife looked at the two plates and burst into tears.
“After this beautiful day, and people saying all these wonderful things about you and our marriage, we come home, and you still give me the end piece. After all these years, I still cannot believe you.”
Her husband looked up in the surprise and said, “But…I think the end piece is the best part. That’s why I gave it to you.”
This story never ceases to bring tears to my eyes, and it also summarizes beautifully how the children and I interact about sippy cups.
I am not a fan of sippy cups. Even before other people knew to watch for BPA in them, they just felt demeaning to me. I liked our children to drink out of glasses…truly glass glasses or mugs. We had sippies when the Buster and Monkey were wee ones, but we haven’t had any for years and years.
So, what happens when we go to my mom’s house, or The C Family or Aunt A and Uncle Z’s? Our children only want to drink out of sippy cups. I suppose it is the novelty, but they think sippies are the coolest things ever.
We were walking through Target and the Monkey says longingly, “Mom, could we get some sippy cups?” It was like she was asking for winter boots because I’d been making her walk to school in January in flip flops.
Like many things, the children’s memories and mine will be interesting to revisit some day. They will wonder at my seemingly bizarre objection to sippy cups, and I’ll wonder why they don’t remember it as me treating them with respect.
Thanks to this blog, I’ll get the last word.