Thursday, July 15, 2010

Alligators and Meatballs

The other day, faced with the prospect of a child whose reading abilities are rapidly declining due to our ridiculous agrarian-based summer break, I took the boys to the library.

As we pulled into the parking lot, Proximo starting asking about the alligator. The last time we were at the library was for a children’s party. I tried to remember if there had been some sort of alligator game or sculpture. “Honey, they don’t have an alligator this time; there’s no party today, just lots of books!”

“I want to get on the alligator,” Proximo insisted.

I nodded happily hoping to distract him, and ushered them into the children’s books. We picked out several early readers, a picture book, and made our way to checkout. Proximo kept talking about the alligator. I kept chalking it up to three-year-old imagination. On our way out Proximo screamed, “ALLIGATOR I WANT TO RIDE ALLIGATOR!”
“Honey, I don’t know where the alligator is.”

“THERE,” he said, pointing to the elevator.


So we rode the alligator, and we liked it.

What we did not like was dinner. I made the Pioneer Woman’s mini-meatball sandwiches with a green salad. Sure to please all?


El Guille doesn’t “like meatballs.” We should have his paternity tested. He had a roll, a salad, and then complained about being hungry. I suggested he eat the meatballs in the marinara. He countered with a suggestion that he eat dessert. I clarified that I am not, nor have I ever been, a short-order cook and referred him back to the meatballs.

Proximo had a meltdown when his cheese melted on his sandwich. He voluntarily left the room, closing the door behind him, and returned when he’d composed himself. I took apart the sandwich and put its various components on the plate, where Proximo could choose to assemble a new one according to his liking. He tried to put a new slice of cheese on and it broke. So did his will to live. He threw away the broke cheese and got a new slice. It broke as well. Our personal Hindenburg. That cheese also was thrown away. New slice. Now, the meatballs have too much sauce. Def Con 7. Will I lick the sauce off for him?

In twenty-five years, remind me to tell the story of how he asked me to lick the sauce off the meatballs so he’d eat them, at his wedding.

Oh, and I did it, too.

(Name a short-order cook who'll do that for you.)


Anonymous said...
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Marianne & Clayton said...

Do you think the guys at Burger King will lick the whopper juniors until they aren't swimming in sauce? There is always too much.

The redhead said...

You are a better mother than I. I would have smeared the sauce all over my son's face before I licked it up for him.

Oh I just wish we could skip these picky eater days and advance quickly to the days where food is enjoyed. Nay! Cherished.

Likely said...

HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am dying because I am sure you have read we are in a hotel this week, and Oliver asks to push the buttons in the ALLIGATOR every time we are going back and forth. HA HA HA!!! It's hilarious. that is tooooo funny. I was going to write about that this week.

Bryn said...

Sounds like dinner time at my house! So frustrating especially when I think it is a meal we should all be happy about!

*MARY* said...

My son used to do the same thing- the alligator thing, not the food licking thing.

Tzipporah said...

Wow. Yet another day to be glad I have only one child. (!!)

girlsmama said...

We had the same thing for dinner! Ha! It went over a little better at my house. I only had one who wanted meatballs wihtout the roll and I had to eat the cheese off another's. But they were tasty little buggers.

Britty said...

El Guille is growing up, and Proximo looks a lot like you. They're such handsome boys! I've thrown in the towel and accept that absolutely anything goes these first 10 years or so of life with boys. I can't wait to start all over again with Clark, but for now, I'm savoring the sweetness.

Hope you're enjoying the new job!

lunablue said...

that's adorable. what sweet looking kids.

Queen Baby said...

That is the thing about parents, they don't forget when you traumitize them. I did not like the milk showing on my cereal. There had to be a layer of crunchy cereal. So it had to be carefully poured or pour the milk and add a top layer.
Their favorite story to tell about me is when my uncle tried to "help" by pouring the milk on my cereal. Complete meltdown for me lifelong trauma for him.
"All I did was pour the milk in her cereal and she dropped to the ground and had a fit!"
sorry uncle.