SJ is a big boy.
He has been a big boy since birth. He came into this world at 9 pounds 4 ounces. He remains in the 90 plus percentile when it comes to weight.
And the boy likes to eat.
However, like most 7-year-olds, he is finicky. Recently, SJ informed Ms. MMK and I that he was no longer eating hot dogs. No, it’s not because he has made the moral choice of going vegan. SJ just felt that he wanted something different.
My wife was not taking this decision lying down.
She told him, “Well then, you need to find something else to add to your list of foods.”
SJ was confused, “Huh?”
“You only eat 7 foods [slight exaggeration – 27 is more like it. You do count bagel and cheese and bread and cheese as two different foods – right? ] and if you are removing one from the list you need to add another one.”
SJ sighed. He continues to eat hot dogs. Uggh, the sacrifices he must make.
Let’s recap what I have shared so far: SJ is a big eater and a particular eater.
Okay, nothing earth shattering. That’s probably the description 88.2% of kids. I just made that number up – sounds like a radio station, perhaps Finicky 88.2 – but I am confident the number is similarly high.
As I’ve mentioned in the past, I do the food shopping for my family. Not only that, I do the meal planning.
Actually, my wife handles Wednesdays which is take out day. She also handles Fridays – our Sabbath meal. It’s the best one of the week – BY FAR! I’ll tell you about that another time.
Anyway, the family looks to me to know what’s for dinner. Now between my repertoire, limited time for preparation, and the boys’ inch wide list of things they are willing to eat, there is little variety.
Now, you would think the excitement of what’s for dinner would not be there.
No, no, no. Daddy, what’s for dinner is the first thing SJ asks me when I see him in the afternoon.
I was on the phone with my wife the other day, and I heard SJ in the background. It was a Wednesday when my wife works from home.
He asked Ms. MMK, “Is that daddy on the phone?”
“Yes, do you want to talk to daddy?”
“I want to know what’s for dinner.”
“I told you what I got for dinner.”
“Hello,” I called out to my wife.
“He doesn’t want to talk to me anymore does he?”
“What can I tell you?”
Asking me what’s for dinner is not a once in a while sort of thing. Before, I have my coat off, SJ asks me, “Daddy, what’s for dinner?”
As we walk out of after care, SJ asks me, “Daddy, what’s for dinner?”
On Sundays after lunch, SJ asks me, “Daddy, What’s for dinner?”
Really? Is that all I’m good for? I mean if I was Emeril Lagasse maybe I could appreciate this. But what the heck do I make – frozen hot dogs, eggs, mac n cheese, etc.
I do have feelings you know.
I’ve talked to SJ about this. I can get him to offer a “How was your day dad?” And a “good” to my question of how his day was.
And then SJ is back to, “Daddy, what’s for dinner?”
Oh well, at least he wants to talk.