Dinnertime with young children is about like repeatedly stubbing your toe against a wall, it’s painful and, try as you might, you just don’t get anywhere. We were attempting to eat a nice family meal, but like usual, Buzz was uncooperative. He’s up and everywhere, a rare treat when he actually sits in his chair for more than 2 seconds. I briefly ponder a belt of duct tape. Instead, he jumps behind us, on us, grabs toys, and rolls around on the floor or runs to another room. If it didn’t look so awkward for his age, I’d probably still keep him in a high chair.
Our entree this night was stuffed baked chicken and it was, admittedly, a little (a lot) dry. I was able to get Buzz to poke at his plate a few times, but he mostly stuck to his side of mashed potatoes. I kept asking, though, pleading if you will. Maybe a bit of whining.
That’s when he grabbed the nearest pink babydoll.
Since we are without a dog to eat our unwanted meals, he had to gather the closest substitute. Except an inanimate baby doll won’t actually scarf down the dry meal that you’re trying to hide. On the contrary, it leaves evidence all over its frozen plastic face. Which didn’t stop him from continuing to jam pieces of dehydrated chicken and stuffing into its slightly open orifice.
“Mmmm… yummy!”, he tried his best at ventriloquism.
At least someone likes my cooking, anyway.