Posts Tagged ‘
mac and cheese ’
Sunday, March 2nd, 2014
3 years, 3 months.
Last Saturday morning while we were grocery shopping at Whole Foods, we were informed that a cookie decorating class was about to start and that we were invited.
What it basically meant is that I used the plant-based icing (not from petroleum or crushed bugs) to draw pictures on your cookie, while Mommy did the shopping on the other end of the store.
When I asked you how you wanted me to decorate your cookie, you responded, “A spider!”
So I drew a spider in the center of the cookie.
But there were clearly other cool colors of icing on the table, which you saw as an opportunity for me to draw other random objects- apparently the first ones that came to mind.
Therefore, I also drew you a shovel underneath the spider… as well as a picture of a cookie, on the cookie itself.
Even now, I catch myself trying to read into your artwork: What do a shovel, a spider, and a cookie all have in common?
The only answer I can come up with is that they are all things that you believed should be on a cookie.
I mean, seriously, what 3 year-old little boy wouldn’t want to eat a food in the likeness of spiders, shovels, and cookies.
Turns out, a few days later, at school you chose to make an art collage with spiders. Why? We’re nowhere near Halloween?
In fact, I think I need to Tweet out this idea to Annie’s Homegrown…
Thanks to you, they may have just stumbled upon the next great marketing idea: Little boys want to eat food that is decorated or shaped like spiders, shovels, and cookies.
What if Annie’s Homegrown made a special edition mac-and-cheese where the noodles were shaped like those three things?
It could be the 3 Year-Old Little Boy edition. All the other boys your age would be so grateful for your clever and relevant idea of eating pasta shaped like spiders, shovels, and cookies.
Keep these creative marketing ideas coming… you never know what might happen.
Spiders, shovels, and cookies.
I dig it.
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Friday, December 6th, 2013
I remember those sort of strange nights as a kid when my dad was in charge of providing me grub and conversation. But it was a nice change, too.
Every once in a while, like tonight, there is that rare occasion where it’s just you and me for dinner time.
What’s for dinner? Ah, leftover Annie’s Mac and Cheese in the fridge, which you insist on eating on cold- and of course, I don’t argue.
Applesauce too. Even half of an unfinished English muffin pizza that Mommy made you from… a few (?) days ago.
No table required. We both just dined on leftovers from the fridge, at the bar. You quickly resorted to losing the spoon and just eating with your hands.
I was impressed with your barbaric ways.
Lucky for you, there happened to be a chocolate covered cream treat that Mommy had brought home from work.
You even got dessert! Score!
But yes, the conversation during “Daddy does dinner” nights is… sort of caveman.
All I know is, there is silence interupted by grunts. Not to mention, no real eye contact. What would have been at least a 25 minute meal had Mommy been there, it gets edited down to no more than 8 minutes when Daddy’s hosting dinner.
I think part of the reason is because we have to save our energy for our “post dinner scuffle.”
There’s the part where we can go in the hallway and I roll Mommy’s exercise ball at you like you’re Indiana Jones. And where Daddy becomes a ridable bull.
And your favorite, where you grab a random kitchen utensil and use it to “chomp Daddy’s pasta hair” while riding on my shoulders.
So, yeah. Dinner time’s a bit different than Daddy, instead of Mommy. As much fun as we do have together for dinner, I still know you’d rather Mommy to be in charge of dinner instead.
I can still roll her exercise ball at you anyway.
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Friday, March 29th, 2013
2 years, 4 months.
You’re like me: You often process your thoughts out loud, sometimes not realizing that other people are listening and taking your curious trains of thought more seriously than you are.
Today as I drove you home from school and we listened to John Lennon sing “goo goo g’joob,” you interrupted “I Am The Walrus” with this deep philosophical creed:
“I not eat boogers? I eat food?”
Somehow I didn’t laugh, and instead, instantly responded in a tone that proved your questions to be legitimate.
“That’s right, son. You eat food, not boogers.”
I realize that your version of the food pyramid is almost exclusively built on mac and cheese, beans and rice, bananas, pureed veggies, and raisins. But even at the very top of that pyramid, there is no space available for boogers, with a caption reading, “Use sparingly.”
So maybe you saw some friends at school picking their nose, then eating their findings. Then you thought it was weird but maybe somehow you thought it might be acceptable, so you figured you should ask Daddy.
Or maybe, with all the talk of finding Easter eggs this weekend, and your confusion on whether or not chickens eat the eggs they lay, which leads to more confusion on whether cows drink the milk they so willingly and graciously share with the human population instead of their own young, I could see how you might think that you also could produce your own food source from your body.
Not the case.
Son, I’m glad we had our talk in the car today. I always want you to feel like you can approach me with important questions like this.
While there may be other families out there who disagree with our lifestyle choices, our family is firm in our beliefs:
We’re not a booger eating family.
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