Thursday, September 13, 2012

Lunching With the Bubster

So Bub and I are sitting at the table yesterday, having lunch. Pretty familiar scene, happens three times a day, every day. And, as usual, it’s taking him three times as long to eat 1/10 the food I do. So I’m finished, doing my crossword, trying to ignore him wriggling his little arm through a hole in the high chair and wave to himself. Not like a bullet hole, it’s designed that way. To piss parents off, I think. Then he waves to me, toothy grin, ricotta cheese in his hair. ‘Hiiiiiiii, Daddy.’ Yep, we’re proud of him.

I redirect him to his plate, which he pokes at the way a grown man would a cockroach on its back. Waiting for something to happen, relieved it didn’t. He’s unsatisfied, listless. He looks over at the counter and points at the lasagna pan from whence his neglected meal came.

B: Bunnies!

M: Bunnies? You mean like bunny rabbits? Like hop hop?

B: (getting emphatic) Bunnies! Bunnies! Bunnies!

M: (realizing he has a small brain and has over-generalized the pan) Ohhhh, BROWNIES? No, that’s lasagna, Bub. You’re eating it right now.

B: Bunnies.

M: Do you want some (imaginary) brownies?

B: Hot!

M: Yes, sometimes brownies are hot.

B: Cool off!

M: Yep, cool off.

B: Have it?

M: Bub, the question is CAN I HAVE IT?

B: Pease?

M: No, say CAN I…

B: Have it?


B: Pease?

M: Can I...

B: Have it?


B: Pease?

M: But you don’t even like chocolate, Bub.

B: Spicy.

M: It’s not spicy. Bitter, maybe, but not spicy.

B: (nodding to my imaginary agreement) Spicy.

M: Fine, whatever, chocolate is spicy. Eat your fucking lasagna. Pease?

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