I suppose everyone deals with the frustrations of parenting differently. Some turn to discipline while others turn to the bottle. Willy and I turn to humor. When Hooper’s being a “little shit” as we like to call it, we humor ourselves. Most of our frustrations are centered around the dinner table and our frivolous attempts to get Hooper to eat the damn food we so lovingly put on his plate. For a while now, it’s been hard to eat at the same time. As soon as he sees my plate, all he wants to do is touch my food and throw my food on the floor. It’d be one thing if he ate my food, but instead he’ll stop eating his food so he can play with my food. Needless to say, Willy sometimes suggest I eat in the other room. I don’t argue.
And that’s the rough background for this little story. I was eating next to the cozy fire in the other room, Willy was eating with Hooper in the kitchen. Next thing you know Willy says I should come into the kitchen. This is what I find: