Busted Hot Dogs
T is home from school today. An episode of emptying the contents of your stomach into the potty first thing in the morning will do that.
He's feeling better, and asked for a hot dog for lunch. NOW, before everyone gets all crazy on me, I am a firm believer that, when you're stomach is feeling urpy, you are the best judge of what you should and shouldn't be eating. For the most part. Within reason. What I mean is, if it sounds good to you after throwing up all morning, then chances are you might be OK.
T wants a hot dog for lunch. I am happy to oblige.
But tragedy has struck. I put it in the microwave for too long and it exploded.
T has decided he cannot stomach a busted hot dog. Only a hot dog that's intact.
"It's FINE. SEE? Look! You can't even tell it's busted when you cut it up."
"It's all icky and it's insides are hanging out." Which is just him being dramatic. It merely popped open. There is no gore.
"Oh for pete's sake. You're going to chew it and it's going to be all inside out anyway."
"I don't like busted hot dogs."
"There are children who would be THRILLED to have your busted hot dog. Now eat it." Here I am reminded of the haggard mom in A Christmas Story haggling with Ralphie about his food. "See, it tastes just fine."
Mmm. That's delicious.
He is unfazed. "Here, I'll even eat another bite to show you...and I don't even LIKE hot dogs" (which is not true, but I am being a martyr, and this thing is truly mouthwatering right now).
I want that hot dog. I never eat hot dogs. We moms don't let ourselves eat hot dogs for lunch. Well, we eat them, but we call it "cleaning up" after the kids because food shouldn't be wasted.
He's a good kid and he sees my point and eats it anyway. I try to occupy myself with some work so that I don't drool over his lunch. I congratulate myself on my willpower -- not because I didn't cave in to his nonsense (in an effort to teach him to be grateful for all he has, even busted hot dogs)...
...because I resisted the urge to make him another hot dog so I could have that one.
He's feeling better, and asked for a hot dog for lunch. NOW, before everyone gets all crazy on me, I am a firm believer that, when you're stomach is feeling urpy, you are the best judge of what you should and shouldn't be eating. For the most part. Within reason. What I mean is, if it sounds good to you after throwing up all morning, then chances are you might be OK.
T wants a hot dog for lunch. I am happy to oblige.
But tragedy has struck. I put it in the microwave for too long and it exploded.
T has decided he cannot stomach a busted hot dog. Only a hot dog that's intact.
"It's FINE. SEE? Look! You can't even tell it's busted when you cut it up."
"It's all icky and it's insides are hanging out." Which is just him being dramatic. It merely popped open. There is no gore.
"Oh for pete's sake. You're going to chew it and it's going to be all inside out anyway."
"I don't like busted hot dogs."
"There are children who would be THRILLED to have your busted hot dog. Now eat it." Here I am reminded of the haggard mom in A Christmas Story haggling with Ralphie about his food. "See, it tastes just fine."
Mmm. That's delicious.
He is unfazed. "Here, I'll even eat another bite to show you...and I don't even LIKE hot dogs" (which is not true, but I am being a martyr, and this thing is truly mouthwatering right now).
I want that hot dog. I never eat hot dogs. We moms don't let ourselves eat hot dogs for lunch. Well, we eat them, but we call it "cleaning up" after the kids because food shouldn't be wasted.
He's a good kid and he sees my point and eats it anyway. I try to occupy myself with some work so that I don't drool over his lunch. I congratulate myself on my willpower -- not because I didn't cave in to his nonsense (in an effort to teach him to be grateful for all he has, even busted hot dogs)...
...because I resisted the urge to make him another hot dog so I could have that one.
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