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A Problem Like Maria

To Cory’s chagrin, Daddy has been working scrambled eggs into the weekday breakfast routine, mainly because it’s hard to get her to eat much protein (and it’s hard to get him to eat vegies). If anything’s a little under- or overcooked, she’s on it immediately, picking it out of the scramble: “Daddy, I don’t like that!” At a recent family gathering, though, the subject turned to hardboiled eggs, during which Cory announces that she likes them. Aha! Bam! On the record liking a good source of protein. To back it up, she eats a couple.

So, of course, back at home, Papa hard boils a dozen, and Daddy plants one in the lunchbox. That night, Daddy finds the same egg, much the worse for the wear, still in the lunchbox.

D: Cory, why didn’t you eat this egg?

No answer.

D: Hey, Cory, I put this hardboiled egg in your lunch so that you could eat it at school. Why didn’t you eat it?
C: I don’t like hardboiled eggs.
D (what!?): Yes, you do.
C: No, I don’t.
D: Wait, you liked them like 24 hours ago. What happened?
C: Nothing. I just don’t like them anymore.
D: Anymore? Why not anymore? (Pause. No answer.) What happened today?
C: I just don’t like them anymore because Maria said that they are not good.
D: Maria said so? But, Maria’s not the boss. And you like them. They are yummy and soooo goood for your body.
C: No, I don’t like them.
D: But, Cory, you shouldn’t decide that you don’t like them just because Maria doesn’t like them. You probably don’t like some things that Maria likes to eat. That’s okay.
C: But, if I eat it, Maria won’t sit next to me.
D: That’s okay. Maria can sit somewhere else while you eat your egg and then…

Much bobbing and weaving, to little avail, as Cory hasn’t eaten one since. So excited to be arguing nutrition and dietary choices against a five-year-old named Maria. And losing, for the moment.

Oh, Cheesus!

C (arriving at school): So, Daddy, I messed up in my project at the Y and said, “Oh, Cheesus!” and Robbie said, “What did you say?” So, I told him that I said, “Oh, Cheesus” and he smiled and said that was okay.
D: I see.
C: Because he thought I said, “Oh, cheese!” And, that’s not okay to say, but I said, “Oh, Cheesus!” and it’s okay to say that because Cheesus is god’s friend, and it’s okay to say him so Robbie didn’t get mad, right?Pause.

D: Well, I don’t think that’s exactly why Robbie…

The bell rings. Cory reaches for a hug.

D (hugging back): Let’s talk about, um, “Oh, Cheesus” tonight, okay?
C: Okay!

But, if Robbie’s okay with it…

Gloating

Last year, the San Francisco (Daddy’s current home city) Giants beat the St. Louis (Daddy’s birth city) Cardinals to win the National League Championships. Cory and Fisher donned Giants swag and danced around the house, insisting that photographs of them be taken and distributed to rub the win in.

Despite a stern talking-to about the unseemliness of gloating, the two of them opened their annual box of Boston (Papa’s adopted favorite city) Red Sox swag from Uncles Chris and Bobby, threw it all on in an anti-Cardinal frenzy, and pulled the same routine.

Some kids just don’t learn.

Punking an Uncle

A sad occasion brought far-flung uncles back “home” for a short stretch this past weekend. Although it had been an age in “kid time” since the twins had seen either in person, it didn’t take long for Cory and Fisher to warm back up. Today, the morning after Uncle Jeff headed north for a visit with Aunt Tammie’s family for a day or two, both twins asked multiple times, “Daddy, where’s Uncle Jeff? Is he coming back? Why did he go?” And, after Saturday’s events, walking out to the car to head back to the rental house…C: Daddy, can I ask you a secret?
D: Yes.
C (motioning for Daddy to bend down and then whispering): Is that man coming with us?
D: Which man?
C (pointing to a group of men): The man…the one who is the daddy of Chloe and Phoebe and Dylan and Zack.
D: That man is Uncle Steve.
C: Is he coming with us?
D: Yes.

Cory beams. Apparently, the same Uncle Steve was caught off guard by Fisher landing a quick lick instead of a kiss on the cheek (supposedly a family “tradition”).