That was the question from H today when I got him up from his wonderfully long afternoon nap…3 hours, a mother’s dream!
His sister, on the other hand, is a punk and only slept about 1 1/2 hours.
When my brother was little, he would ask my mother what we were having for dinner immediately after breakfast, sometimes while we were eating breakfast. It was if he had to plan the rest of his day based on what her answer was.
I could never figure out why he cared. The kid was a legend among the picky eaters, and he has been paid back in recent years. Neither of his sons eats voluntarily. A2 has been known to come dangerously close to inciting violence at the dinner table. I know because I witnessed it.
I will never forget when I was visiting them and A2 asked the greatest question of all time, “Who picked this dinner?” My sister-in-law, in her continuing effort to appease her picky eaters, had instituted the system that allowed each family member to pick a meal they wanted on a given night. Unfortunately, on this night, A2 was not pleased with the choice. Obviously, the choice had been made by some other family member.
The dinner that night was Chicken Pot Pie. A2 has a problem with various foods touching. The casserole concept as a whole runs counter to everything he holds dear. Thus his objection. I thought my normally patient sister-in-law was going to go across the table at him.
So, this afternoon when I went to get H out of bed, and he asked me, “What we havin’ for dinner?”, it just cracked me up. He has no intention of eating it, why would he care what we were having? He is my brother all over again and I am reminded of my brother as a child every day.
are much more acceptable to the picky eaters here.
H ate yogurt and drew on his face, arms and hands with markers. He then announced, “Yo ho, yo ho, life is but a dream. Fast and curvy H’s with no tails!” That is H-speak for, “Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me. Avast you scurvy dogs. Dead men tell no tales!”
As a totally unrelated aside, this is what greets us when we come in the door. Isn’t this gorgeous?