Feeding and housing and clothing and educating this many people, ya gotta have a budget.
And a plan.
And an understanding that you will spend a lot of time thinking about food and menus and grocery shopping and food storage and freezer bags.
That will all work for a while.
And then your kids will get taller.
They will be able to reach the cabinets. And figure out how to turn on the pantry lights.
They will forage.
And eat anything not nailed down.
And you never thought about nailing down Triscuits.
But now you do.
I'm freshly back to computer after yet another kitchen stake-out. Or to be cute, I could say 'steak-out'...but I shall refrain.
I'm like the patrol cop who rides a horse through the park or the officer who rides a bike along downtown avenues, just keeping things calm, being a figure of authority to inspire citizens to honor peace and civil law. I stroll through the kitchen, making sure counters are clear and perishables are stored in the fridge.
I'm keeping the peace....piece~~okay, there I go again....
But the minute I leave the confines of the kitchen, it begins again. The foraging. The feasting.
The menu-wrecking. The ingredient-for-something-else consumption.
Who eats sour cream? Straight? Seriously?
Ah, an Octa-Kid would.
So I find myself engaged in one of my least-favorite mommy roles. Food Cop. Snack SWAT. Munchie Monarch.
I could keep going. But I won't.
It is one of the darker sides of homeschooling. There are people with access to your kitchen and your provisions. All. Day. Long.
When the OctaTribe were all younger, it was easier to stay in lock down. But I am seriously outnumbered over here. And their need to feed is great.
So I'm on patrol, counting apples and creating accountability.
OctaFoodCop. That's me.