It's All Our Fault

Lately our boys have been growing -- like, jumping pants sizes by the week. Andrew seems to be growing out, and Adam is growing up. I thought I'd have until the boys were about 10 before they became taller than I, but now I'm starting to wonder about Adam. He may catch up with me before the year's out if he keeps up at this rate. And then I'll really be in trouble. But that's another post... Anyway, we haven't had what we refer to as "Meatloaf Wars" at our dinner table for quite some time now. And it's been fabulous. Our growing boys have been cleaning plates left and right. There have been a few balky moments here and there (Andrew is traditionally anti-entree, and Adam has yet to meet a vegetable he will look in the eye); but once we coax them into taking the first bite, the all-consuming business of small boys getting bigger takes over to cause these guys to EAT.


So tonight it took us a little off guard when Andrew gobbled his grapes and then put his foot down about eating his roast and green beans. Fine. No after-dinner treat. When Steve and I called Andrew's bluff and took away his plate, we were, of course, met with tears. I believe there was also some wailing and gnashing of teeth. We had to laugh, though, when we told him, "Andrew, you need to eat if you want a treat." His indignant response? "You need to make me something I like." Wow. I guess it's all our fault.


For the record, so far we have had no food issues with Miss Piggy, I mean, Miss Libby.