Tuesday, June 24, 2008

I am screwed!

We are eating dinner together.  I have tried a couple of new things for him to sample this evening.  He is trying chicken apple sausage (the only kind of sausage I can bear), marinated wild salmon and just for shits and giggles I thought I would throw in a piece of wheat bread with some butter on it.  Three guesses at which one he ate.  Right.  The bread.  Keep it simple stupid.  Thousands of visits with a gastroenternologist and dietitians but he just wants bread and butter.  He ate it all and asked for more.  And it was a starch.  Just what the dietitian ordered.  Of course she would have been happier if he had eaten that AND his string cheese (didn't touch it), and his fatty sausage (one bite and made a horrific face and used his fingers to yank it out of his mouth post haste), and his salmon (wouldn't even attempt it).  The one thing they could agree on is that he did eat some peas.  Those are a starchy vegetable so we get some points for that.

We are working on manners at dinnertime.  I make it a point to sit down with him at the dinner table and eat with him every single night.  So while we do this we also discuss why it is inappropriate to, say, put your feet up on the table.  We have discussed this particular issue more than once.  In fact we have talked about it so much that he seems to know exactly what I am going to say about it.  Example:

Boy: (puts his feet up on table with dirty socks and looks up at me), "Dop!" [stop]

Mommy: "Boy stop it.  We don't put our feet on the table."

Boy: (grins and bends his knee and points to under the table), "Der!  Under da dable" [there, under the table]

Mommy: (playing along at this point) "Your feet go there.  Under the table.  Feet stay under the table."

Boy: (as he puts his foot back under the table to where it belongs), "Des" while shaking his head [yes].

Mommy:  "Yes, that is where your foot belongs."

Boy: "Dat tu, dat tu" [thank you, thank you]

Mommy:  "Thank you."

Boy: (grins and puts his foot back on the table to start the whole process over again)...

Over and over at dinner tonight people.  he knows exactly what I am going to do say and then just to have some sort of conversation he proceeds to basically have the conversation with himself.  He doesn't even need me.  I just get to go along for the ride.  Sometimes the cuteness is too much.  He kills me.

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