Here's some back story to our own family nightly ritual....our own little version of Groundhog Day!
I make dinner....always something I know the kids will enjoy. My son has a lapse in memory and starts convulsing before he gets to the table demanding that he be heard:"I WILL NOT EAT THAT! EVER!" I explain in my calmest Italian American fashion that in fact, he has eaten this particular meal before and he loved it. I insist that he sits down, he insists that he will not be seated at a table that is hosting such a disgusting meal. His manners go from bad to worse and he is asked to vacate the premises and go warm the stool in his room. He cries. We wait. He calms down. He's invited back in the room. He tries the food. And he smiles and says, "Mmmm...this is good. My favorite. Mama, did you make this just for me because you know I like it so much?"
This is the point where I realize that God make children to be so beautiful and charming because if he didn't....they wouldn't make it past the age of 4.
I'm exhausted by the whole exchange and he's ready to open a bottle of Chianti and settle in for the night with a good meal.
So tonight, I decided to cut out the middle man when he approached the table. In an effort at a premptive strike I told him that he's eaten the meal, I know he thinks its vile, but in an effort to move things along...could we please bypass the bad manners and trip to his bedroom and just try the freakin chicken!?!?! He smiled and complied. And he said, "Mmmm...this is good. My favorite. Mama, did you make this just for me because you know I like it so much?"
Not having wasted all that time...we had time for some good conversation along with the Chianti. Here's how it went:
Little Man: Mama do you know how Chicken gets to our
table?The Me: How, Babe?
Little Man:
Well, the Chicken Rooster spits out chicken.
Then the farmer mixes the chicken and puts it on a train.
Then it goes on a boat.
Then it goes on a truck.
Then it goes on another truck.
Then it goes into a store.
Then we go buy it.
You cook it.
Then we eat it.
Just like that.
The Me: Chicken Rooster, Babe?
Little Man: Yep, a Chicken Rooster spits it out. Mmmm..this is good.
