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Pretty irritating morning with Mr. Clod today. He told my stepkids that he would eat gluten-free with them as a sign of solidarity (though his wording made it so that he didn't actually promise to eat that way when he's at work, or when they're not with us,) so now he's jumped in with both feet like it's a fun game. I warned him beforehand that the kids were going to cry when we told them, and he didn't believe me. Even now, after three separate crying spells from the boy, he keeps casually bringing up how they can't eat certain things anymore, without understanding that it is sad and hard for them.
This morning, Mr. Clod tells Stepson he can have Crispix, even though I'd told him last night they have gluten, because he'd looked at the ingredients list and it was fine after all. Stepson is thrilled. I have to pull out my phone to prove to him that NO, the "malt flavoring" is barley malt, and that means gluten.
A spat ensues about how he does not magically know everything there is to know about this stuff just because he's finally decided to start paying attention, and since I teach fucking classes on it maybe he should at least check with me before he completely countermands what I've said and gets the poor boy's hopes up. Meanwhile he resents the implication that he is not smart enough to do this, and that he must defer to me on everything dietary in origin...
ANYWAY. It's fine now. A learning moment for him, but at the expense of the kid's fragile emotional state. Everyone will live...
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