Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Not Vegan Yet
"What's for dinner, mom?"
Max awoke hungry from a long, fever-induced nap at 8:30 Saturday evening. I pulled the leftovers out of the refrigerator.
"Chicken, tortellini with pesto, corn on the cob and broccoli."
"Is it a real chicken?"
"Yes, honey."
"You mean it's a real chicken?"
"Yep."
"Really?! A chicken, the farm animal, you know, the kind that Boo likes?!"
There was a long pause as Max ruminated.
When the boys have raised questions about the origins of food, our conversation has resembled the following:
Dad orders a steak.
Boy: What's a steak?
Dad: It's meat.
Boy: Is it chicken?
Dad: No, it's beef. Beef comes from cows.
Mom orders a porkchop.
Boy: A forkchop? Does it come from forks?
Mom: A Porkchop. It comes from pigs.
Boy: And ham comes from a hamster.
Mom: Thankfully, no. It comes from pigs, too.
Boy: What's a hotdog?
Mom: A hotdog is.....ummmm.....honey, why don't you order the cheese sticks instead? And then you can have ice cream for dessert.
For children--and perhaps for any of us who think on it long enough--the idea that what's for dinner was recently Wilbur or Bambi or Elsie is not so easily digested. I recently heard that most kids go through a stage where they reject any food that used to have a face. Sometimes that stage lasts a lifetime. So on Saturday evening, I braced for Max's repulsed response, recalling favorite vegetarian entrees as I waited.
"COOL!!!! Boo, did you know we're eating a Real Live Chicken?! Only it's Dead?! With No Feathers?!"
I guess the spinach cannelloni can wait another week.
Max awoke hungry from a long, fever-induced nap at 8:30 Saturday evening. I pulled the leftovers out of the refrigerator.
"Chicken, tortellini with pesto, corn on the cob and broccoli."
"Is it a real chicken?"
"Yes, honey."
"You mean it's a real chicken?"
"Yep."
"Really?! A chicken, the farm animal, you know, the kind that Boo likes?!"
There was a long pause as Max ruminated.
When the boys have raised questions about the origins of food, our conversation has resembled the following:
Dad orders a steak.
Boy: What's a steak?
Dad: It's meat.
Boy: Is it chicken?
Dad: No, it's beef. Beef comes from cows.
Mom orders a porkchop.
Boy: A forkchop? Does it come from forks?
Mom: A Porkchop. It comes from pigs.
Boy: And ham comes from a hamster.
Mom: Thankfully, no. It comes from pigs, too.
Boy: What's a hotdog?
Mom: A hotdog is.....ummmm.....honey, why don't you order the cheese sticks instead? And then you can have ice cream for dessert.
For children--and perhaps for any of us who think on it long enough--the idea that what's for dinner was recently Wilbur or Bambi or Elsie is not so easily digested. I recently heard that most kids go through a stage where they reject any food that used to have a face. Sometimes that stage lasts a lifetime. So on Saturday evening, I braced for Max's repulsed response, recalling favorite vegetarian entrees as I waited.
"COOL!!!! Boo, did you know we're eating a Real Live Chicken?! Only it's Dead?! With No Feathers?!"
I guess the spinach cannelloni can wait another week.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Who's the Boss?
Lee and I were delivering buckets of grain to hungry horses Sunday morning while the boys occupied themselves in the gator. When we returned for hay, Max and Boo were busy dividing up responsibility for the world.
Max: I'm the boss of you.
Boo: And I'm the boss of babies.
I chimed in.
Me: And I'm the boss of both of you.
Boo: And daddy's the boss of you.
(You could probably hear Lee laughing all the way in Seattle.)
Lee, whispering in Boo's ear: Let's just keep that between you and me, okay?
Max: I'm the boss of you.
Boo: And I'm the boss of babies.
I chimed in.
Me: And I'm the boss of both of you.
Boo: And daddy's the boss of you.
(You could probably hear Lee laughing all the way in Seattle.)
Lee, whispering in Boo's ear: Let's just keep that between you and me, okay?
