After dinner, milk sippy time, and Ivy had a little spill. G pointed out to me and seemed to want me to clean it up. I got a paper towel and gave it to him, and he ran over and wiped up the spill. Then Ivy got a hold of it and started wiping too, she wiped the table too. That excited G apparently, because when he got the paper towel back, he went off like a whirling dervish wiping every surface he could reach. Clean, clean, clean. He couldn’t get enough of it and it made him so happy to wipe everything down. My plan is to keep this going and hand him some dishes and a sponge as soon as it is feasible.
Chubby little Ivy running around the room while G got his story read. I think she knew Where the Wild Things Are at least enough to jump up when the wild rumpus started.
Checking in with some good blogs that I hadn’t read in a while. There’s some good writing out there.
I made a real meal. Well balanced, hearty, tasty. Meatloaf (with some veggies in it,) carrots with a sweet and salty glaze and some rice with a squeeze of key lime from the tree. I ate, the girl ate, the papa ate (although only two baby carrots) the boy however did not eat a bite, although he tried both the carrots and the meatloaf when I made it into a sandwich. He spit them both out, reacting violently to the onion, I think. Just didn’t like it. He got a reheated mini hamburger and was delighted. Even my uncle skipped the carrots, as anti-veggie as he is.
I said something about, “How strange it is that I am the least picky person in this house.” My uncle laughed, because he is the only person here who knew me when I was a kid and would only eat food if it was pink or red. On the plus side, if I was that picky and can now eat and cook all sorts of foods, then perhaps a picky child is not the sentence of doom that you always think when nothing gets eaten at dinner.
Catching most of the BBCSense and Sensibility even if it’s not very good reception.
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