i would love to tell you that the fluorescent orange tint to ben's hands and face was caused by baked or whole-grain cheetos, but that would be a lie. look at his hands. i mean, really???
we have been placing utensils in front of him since he moved past the gerber puff stage. at every meal he is reminded of their purpose as we model, in slow-motion, how to use them properly. you see, we heard somewhere once that the key to parenting/getting-your-child-to-do-what-you-want is repetition. mind-numbing repetition. it worked with potty-training. but eating like a civilized human being? fuhgeddaboutit. he's an animal, i'll tell ya.
last year, i walked into his classroom where a class picnic on the teacher's nice quilt was underway, to find my child slathered in what looked like yogurt while his classmates were delicately plucking goldfish from their snack baggies and placing them directly into their tiny little mouths. his teacher shook her head, laughed and said, "i've never seen anything quite like it." recently, i picked ben up from gymnastics camp (where he eats lunch) to find his entire face smeared with peanut butter. i hope none of the kids with peanut allergies came near him. they would've dropped dead. this morning, he went to the bathroom to wash jelly out of his hair. there is a film of sticky on every surface of this house. and you know what sticks to "sticky"? dirt and germs and nastiness.
my dear friend's daughter ate soup. from a bowl. with a spoon. AT AGE TWO! i mean, really?
am i cut out for this parenting boys business??? say a little prayer, friends.