As a parent, your days are filled with ups and downs. Some days you feel like a rock star, and some days you feel like something on that rock star’s floor after a wild night of partying. Sometimes you can go from one to the other in a matter of seconds. Wednesday night was one of those nights.
Little Dude and I went to the Caring Place on Wednesday night. They always provide dinner and dessert for us, and this week it was pizza and cake. (It’s not my ideal meal for the kid, but I didn’t have to cook it or clean up from it, so I counted it as a win.) He asked for a slice of cheese pizza and some broccoli. We eat tons of broccoli in our house, but it’s always roasted or steamed. I wasn’t sure if he’d go for the raw stuff. While he was eating his pizza, I realized it was getting late, so I ran up to get him a tiny piece of cake. The smallest piece I could find was a little corner piece. You know what that means: a little cake, a lot of frosting. His eyes lit up as he wolfed down the pizza, knowing he couldn’t have the cake until he finished that. He took a few bites of the cake, leaving a nice sized dollop of frosting on the plate. I thought he was done, but then he went back to the broccoli. He took a bite of the broccoli, and didn’t seem bothered by the fact that it was raw. I was having a proud mommy moment. I was on cloud 9 . . . .
. . . and then it happened. He took that piece of broccoli and dipped it in that big dollop of frosting and plopped the whole thing in his mouth. I tried to stop him but I was no match. I sat there in horror while he looked at me as if to say, “What? You got a problem with that?”
After he finished chewing, I asked him if it was yummy.