“Oh. Injury bar.”
En-er-geeeee bar, Zane.
Ok, that’s fine. Whatever, Zane. Who are you? Have you joined the nutrition police? And are you, the boy who refuses all food, really in a position to judge what your deal ‘ole mom eats? Your deal ‘ole mom, who resorts to downing energy bars during lunch, rather than preparing a well balanced lunch, because she is too busy trying to prepare a lunch that you will actually eat?
I’ve offered you yogurt. Cereal. English Muffins. Bacon. Eggs. That’s breakfast. I’ve put together plates of turkey. String Cheese. Carrots. Grapes. How about an apple or a banana. No? We make smoothies and freeze them. You liked them last week! Daddy makes this great tortilla dish. You refuse. And you have the gall to accuse my bars of causing injury? At least I’m eating. Something.
Really, son. If Mommy wants to rip open an energy bar, you should remain quiet. Sure, they are not the most nutritious choice, but they certainly aren’t “injury bars”. At the very least, they afford me a bit more energy to wander miles around the kitchen hunting for something that you will consume with gladness.
Like, perhaps, an energy bar.
Don’t knock it until you try it, little man. There could very well be one on your plate tomorrow, as I’m out of ideas.