So, now suddenly I’m the bad guy because I won’t let the boy eat a pickle and eggnog with his General Tso’s chicken.
I have my limits, people.
So, now suddenly I’m the bad guy because I won’t let the boy eat a pickle and eggnog with his General Tso’s chicken.
I have my limits, people.
Some things you just don’t expect to say before 9 am:
“You must stop pretending to barf on your sisters.”
We let the boy make his own dinner tonight. We felt, at age 7, he should start earning his keep and preparing his own food.
Moment later, he produced a sandwich comprised of peanut butter, peanuts, shredded cheddar cheese, and bright pink strawberry Quik dust.
Before we could even close our open-hanging jaws, he washed it all down with strawberry milk and thoroughly loved every bite. He really, really, sincerely loved it.
I truly don’t know what to say. To each his own, I guess.