Sunday, January 14, 2007
The Eye of the Beholder
Perhaps it would be like this even if Max and Boo weren't so dissimilar. Maybe it's how siblings start to differentiate themselves. Maybe, unconsciously, they're creating a Hobson's choice for their conflicted mother.
The bottom line is, if I ask a question of my kids, I'm guaranteed different answers.
Want peanut butter and jelly or turkey and cheese sandwiches for lunch?
Peanut butter and jelly.
Turkey and cheese.
Want to play outside or inside?
Outside.
Inside.
Want to go to the park or the zoo?
Park.
Zoo.
Nowhere is the kids' cosmic divide greater than when it comes to breakfast. Boo comes down squarely in favor of waffles; Max is unabashedly a pancake man.
For most of their rivalries, I'm Switzerland--don't take sides and couldn't care less. But in the breakfast wars, if I'm doing the cooking, I side with Boo. The world's best waffle recipe (I think from Food and Wine's 25 best recipes of all time) would tip the balance by itself. But the fact that any extras can be frozen and reheated in a few short minutes, with the same superlative results, makes any debate on the matter moot in my book. By doubling the recipe, I can bank on six ethereal waffles ready any day of the week.
We didn't budge an inch from the house this weekend, which gave us plenty of time for morning baking. On Saturday, Boo got first dibs. When Max learned his breakfast fate, he was nearly inconsolable. The only thing that salvaged our morning was the promise of pancakes on Sunday. This morning, he held me to it.
To increase the entertainment value, I sculpted letters out of the first batch of pancakes: M A X, B O O. The boys were tickled. Oblivious to the limitations of the craft, the boys demanded more: "I want farm animals!," insisted Boo. "An elephant and a lion and a zebra!," shouted Max.
For the next course, with Mickey Mouse in mind, I pooled two large dollops of batter on the griddle and tried to drip smaller blobs in the "10 and 2" positions. The "ears" weren't exactly symmetrical, nor were they positioned to resemble any animal I've seen recently, but with a gleeful flourish, I slid their flapjacks onto their plates: "Here are your animals!"
Both boys squealed with ecstasy. "It's a koala bear!" Max insisted. "Mine's a chicken, isn't it?," queried Boo. I might never have conjured up that description myself, but who was I to deny Boo his farm animals? "It sure is, honey!" Happily, they began lopping off fluffy ears and tails.
"More animals!," they demanded through their sticky lips. But I was reaching the end of my artistic rope, and I was ready for some pancakes myself. I poured three easy circles on the griddle, contemplating how to assuage their disappointment. Then I had another crazy idea. Even as I laid the golden orbs on their plates, I wondered whether they'd be on to my trickery.
"What animal is that, Max?"
"An elephant?"
"No."
"A snake?"
"No, look again."
"A chameleon?"
"What animal rolls into a ball, and we see them at the ranch?"
"An armadillo! You made me an armadillo pancake!" He couldn't have sounded more excited if I'd let a live armadillo loose in the kitchen.
"And what is yours, Boo?"
"A goat?"
"No, it's a kind of bug."
"An insect?"
"Close."
"A caterpillar?"
"Closer. It's a bug that rolls into a ball."
Max chimed in: "A doodle bug, like we used to see at the bakery!"
Now the boys turned their rapt attention to my pancake. Never mind that it looked 100% identical to both of theirs. "What animal is yours, mommy?"
"I know, I know!" exclaimed Max. "It's a turtle with it's legs and head in its shell!"
Like a Rorschach test, or searching the passing clouds, what we see is what lies within.
The bottom line is, if I ask a question of my kids, I'm guaranteed different answers.
Want peanut butter and jelly or turkey and cheese sandwiches for lunch?
Peanut butter and jelly.
Turkey and cheese.
Want to play outside or inside?
Outside.
Inside.
Want to go to the park or the zoo?
Park.
Zoo.
Nowhere is the kids' cosmic divide greater than when it comes to breakfast. Boo comes down squarely in favor of waffles; Max is unabashedly a pancake man.
For most of their rivalries, I'm Switzerland--don't take sides and couldn't care less. But in the breakfast wars, if I'm doing the cooking, I side with Boo. The world's best waffle recipe (I think from Food and Wine's 25 best recipes of all time) would tip the balance by itself. But the fact that any extras can be frozen and reheated in a few short minutes, with the same superlative results, makes any debate on the matter moot in my book. By doubling the recipe, I can bank on six ethereal waffles ready any day of the week.
We didn't budge an inch from the house this weekend, which gave us plenty of time for morning baking. On Saturday, Boo got first dibs. When Max learned his breakfast fate, he was nearly inconsolable. The only thing that salvaged our morning was the promise of pancakes on Sunday. This morning, he held me to it.
To increase the entertainment value, I sculpted letters out of the first batch of pancakes: M A X, B O O. The boys were tickled. Oblivious to the limitations of the craft, the boys demanded more: "I want farm animals!," insisted Boo. "An elephant and a lion and a zebra!," shouted Max.
For the next course, with Mickey Mouse in mind, I pooled two large dollops of batter on the griddle and tried to drip smaller blobs in the "10 and 2" positions. The "ears" weren't exactly symmetrical, nor were they positioned to resemble any animal I've seen recently, but with a gleeful flourish, I slid their flapjacks onto their plates: "Here are your animals!"
Both boys squealed with ecstasy. "It's a koala bear!" Max insisted. "Mine's a chicken, isn't it?," queried Boo. I might never have conjured up that description myself, but who was I to deny Boo his farm animals? "It sure is, honey!" Happily, they began lopping off fluffy ears and tails.
"More animals!," they demanded through their sticky lips. But I was reaching the end of my artistic rope, and I was ready for some pancakes myself. I poured three easy circles on the griddle, contemplating how to assuage their disappointment. Then I had another crazy idea. Even as I laid the golden orbs on their plates, I wondered whether they'd be on to my trickery.
"What animal is that, Max?"
"An elephant?"
"No."
"A snake?"
"No, look again."
"A chameleon?"
"What animal rolls into a ball, and we see them at the ranch?"
"An armadillo! You made me an armadillo pancake!" He couldn't have sounded more excited if I'd let a live armadillo loose in the kitchen.
"And what is yours, Boo?"
"A goat?"
"No, it's a kind of bug."
"An insect?"
"Close."
"A caterpillar?"
"Closer. It's a bug that rolls into a ball."
Max chimed in: "A doodle bug, like we used to see at the bakery!"
Now the boys turned their rapt attention to my pancake. Never mind that it looked 100% identical to both of theirs. "What animal is yours, mommy?"
"I know, I know!" exclaimed Max. "It's a turtle with it's legs and head in its shell!"
Like a Rorschach test, or searching the passing clouds, what we see is what lies within.
2 Comments:
What a creative mommy you are! I doubt I could make a convincing armadillo pancake, but we don't have them in WA. Perhaps I should practice my orcas.
Don't forget the first rule of breakfast interpretation. Even Freud would admit that sometimes a pancake is just a pancake. ;-)
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