Ice Cream!
Last night I made a simple dinner - mac-n-cheese-n-peas for me and H with a large salad on the side, and fruit and 2 hot dogs for Colin. Certainly not the most nutritious choice for any of us, but I was in a hurry and it was quick. And since my son categorically refuses to even TRY mac-n-cheese (with or without peas) his small portion of pasta went uneaten.
When the meal was mostly done H was still a bit hungry, and served himself a small dish of cottage cheese. Colin took one look at the small blue bowl containing a white dairy product and exclaimed "ICE CREAM!" His father chuckled and said, "No, this is cottage cheese Colin." but the little guy wasn't buying it. He wanted some of the "ice cream" and was not taking no for an answer. "ICE CREAM! ICE CREAM! ICE CREAAAAM!!!"
H had reiterated that it was cottage cheese, but I guess Colin wasn't listening. I suggested to H that he give Colin a bite, figuring that he'd either eat it or at least it would end his clamoring for a sweet treat. H took a very small spoonful and unloaded it into Colin's open maw.
That's when all Hell broke loose.
I swear, Colin couldn't have been more horrified. He instantly spit out the nasty-awful cottage cheese, frantically wiped at his tongue with both hands, then jammed both fists in his mouth and began wailing. The sobbing would start to wind down a bit, then he would glance in the general direction of H's bowl of cottage cheese and he'd start up again: just the sight of cottage cheese was too much for him to bear. I think he cried, with both hands in his mouth, for at least 5 minutes. Maybe more - I wasn't watching the clock.
Being a good, kind, compassionate mother I did the only thing I could: I laughed until I was crying, holding my sides and gasping for breath.
H wasn't helping curb my mirth either. He immediately accused me of throwing him under the bus. The conversation went something like this:
H: You sabotaged me! How could you do that?!?
Me: (ha! ha! ha!) What do you mean?
H: You told me to give it to him and now look at what happened. The poor kid! He won't trust anything I give him. You've ruined me!
Me: (chortle-chortle-guffaw) Huh? (snicker-snicker) I didn't exactly hold a gun to your head, you didn't have to give it to him. (chuckle chuckle ha-ha-ha) And you did tell him it wasn't ice cream.
H: (indignantly) He wasn't listening! You're smarter than me - you convinced me to do it. Manson didn't kill anyone either, but he convinced those women to do it for him. You Manson-ed me!
M: (uncontrolled laughter)
H had also brought out a few cinnamon bunnies, and put one on Colin's tray as a peace offering, but the little guy wasn't trusting anything at that point. He looked at it, examined it, broke it in half, then very gingerly placed one piece in his mouth and carefully chewed. It seemed OK so he ate the other half, but then proceeded to go through the same routine for the next three bunnies.
Because really, when ice cream goes that wrong you know the universe has betrayed you, and you just can't be too careful.
When the meal was mostly done H was still a bit hungry, and served himself a small dish of cottage cheese. Colin took one look at the small blue bowl containing a white dairy product and exclaimed "ICE CREAM!" His father chuckled and said, "No, this is cottage cheese Colin." but the little guy wasn't buying it. He wanted some of the "ice cream" and was not taking no for an answer. "ICE CREAM! ICE CREAM! ICE CREAAAAM!!!"
H had reiterated that it was cottage cheese, but I guess Colin wasn't listening. I suggested to H that he give Colin a bite, figuring that he'd either eat it or at least it would end his clamoring for a sweet treat. H took a very small spoonful and unloaded it into Colin's open maw.
That's when all Hell broke loose.
I swear, Colin couldn't have been more horrified. He instantly spit out the nasty-awful cottage cheese, frantically wiped at his tongue with both hands, then jammed both fists in his mouth and began wailing. The sobbing would start to wind down a bit, then he would glance in the general direction of H's bowl of cottage cheese and he'd start up again: just the sight of cottage cheese was too much for him to bear. I think he cried, with both hands in his mouth, for at least 5 minutes. Maybe more - I wasn't watching the clock.
Being a good, kind, compassionate mother I did the only thing I could: I laughed until I was crying, holding my sides and gasping for breath.
H wasn't helping curb my mirth either. He immediately accused me of throwing him under the bus. The conversation went something like this:
H: You sabotaged me! How could you do that?!?
Me: (ha! ha! ha!) What do you mean?
H: You told me to give it to him and now look at what happened. The poor kid! He won't trust anything I give him. You've ruined me!
Me: (chortle-chortle-guffaw) Huh? (snicker-snicker) I didn't exactly hold a gun to your head, you didn't have to give it to him. (chuckle chuckle ha-ha-ha) And you did tell him it wasn't ice cream.
H: (indignantly) He wasn't listening! You're smarter than me - you convinced me to do it. Manson didn't kill anyone either, but he convinced those women to do it for him. You Manson-ed me!
M: (uncontrolled laughter)
H had also brought out a few cinnamon bunnies, and put one on Colin's tray as a peace offering, but the little guy wasn't trusting anything at that point. He looked at it, examined it, broke it in half, then very gingerly placed one piece in his mouth and carefully chewed. It seemed OK so he ate the other half, but then proceeded to go through the same routine for the next three bunnies.
Because really, when ice cream goes that wrong you know the universe has betrayed you, and you just can't be too careful.
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