Lola had sloppey joes the other day at her school. "Mom, mom we had sloppey joes and carrot sticks and crackers for lunch today!" The parents are given a weekly advanced copy of the menu. Teriyaki chicken, meatballs, tuna noddle cassarole, corn dogs? I wasn't thrilled she'd be eating corndogs.
She wanted sloppey joes for dinner tonight. We have tried as a family to eat together and have failed miserably. Sean is usually home by 7 or 7:30. I've tried having dinner ready when he hits the door, but it felt too rushed with the dog, Lola, Gibby, me, all rushing to greet Daddy. For me, it was hard to instantly switch gears from mom-dom to partner who listens to your day with an undistracted ear and thumbs her nose at the corporate suits who employe my husband. (I, We, are incredibly thankful he has a great job!) So, now Lola has her dinner by 6, then bath, unwind with family, some cartoons and off to bed.
We're back to the dinner table. She loved the sloppy joes which we renamed Sloppy Lo's. "Mom, I love them! I also love tomatoes, broccoli, brownies, and spahgetti. Oh, and milk, I love milk!" She doesn't eat broccoli, or anything green. Color aversion. "Milk comes from cows and goats. You know cheese comes from goats too, goat cheese." She takes a bite of her sandwich. "What do horses give? Do they give milk?" "No, hon they don't give milk." "But they're fast runners in the field aren't they? Can I have a goat or a horse? We could keep him in the garage and I could take it to school!"
Why do I have this suspicion she crafted this whole conversation about cow's milk, just so she could ask for a horse?
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