Posts Tagged ‘Food’

Cooking Something (anything!) Up

So apparently Mark thinks Brian doesn’t know how to cook.

Me (trying to lure Mark to help with dinner):  “Come on, kid, I’ll show you how to make pesto.”

Mark:  “Why?”

Me:  “Someday you will need to feed yourself.”

Mark:  “I already know how to make ramen.”

Me:  “You might want to eat something besides ramen.”

Mark:  “I LIKE ramen.”

Me:  “Fine.  But someday you may want to impress a girl, and we love guys who cook.”

Mark:  “Then why doesn’t Dad know how?”

Since I’m leaving Friday and will be gone for a week, Mark’s belief in his father’s inability to navigate the kitchen has moved from a curiosity to a source of grave concern.

Monday.

Mark:  “I think we should go to the grocery store.”

Me:  “Why?”

Mark:  “We need some frozen dinners.”

Me:  “Why?”

Mark:  “So I can eat while you’re gone.”

Me:  “Dad can cook.”

Mark:  “I think it would be a good idea to have some frozen dinners.”

Tuesday.

Mark:  “I think we should go to the grocery store and get some frozen dinners.”

Me:  “YOUR FATHER KNOWS HOW TO COOK.”

Mark decides to stay silent but is obviously skeptical.

Wednesday.

[We are at the grocery store filling a prescription]

Mark:  “While we are here, I think we should get some frozen dinners.”

Me:  “You know, I have successfully left children alone with your father and none of them died of starvation.”

Mark:  “I DON’T WANT TO DIE AND I DON’T WANT TO EAT RAMEN FOR A WHOLE WEEK.  Can we PLEASE get some frozen dinners?”

Meditations upon the Potential IQ of a Peach (I mean Nectarine)

Me:  “I’m going to have a nectarine for a snack.  Mark, do you want a nectarine?  I can cut it up for you.”

Mark:  “I don’t like nectarines.”

Me:  “Nectarines are bald peaches.  You like peaches.  You would probably like nectarines.”

Mark:  “I don’t like nectarines.”

[same conversation repeats with Kate]

I cut up one nectarine.

Mark:  “Hey!  That looks like a peach.  Can I have a piece?”

Me:  “Go ahead.”

Mark:  “It TASTES like a peach.  Can I have one?  I guess I like nectarines.”

Me:  “Okay.”

[same conversation repeats with Kate]

Kate:  “I wonder how smart a peach would be if its pit were a brain.”  [holding up the pit]  “It’s pretty big compared to the whole peach.”

Mark:  “However smart it would be, it wouldn’t be smarter than ME.”

Kate:  “Smarter than you as you are, and as it is, or smarter relative to size?  Your brain compared to your body, and its brain compared to it?”

Mark:  “Either way.  I would be smarter than a PEACH either way.”

Kate:  “It’s a nectarine.”

Urban Child Meets Rural Upbringing

Kate:  “There were five deer in own backyard.”

Me:  “And apparently they like daylilies.  They’re chomped down to the roots.”

Kate:  “They must taste good.”

Me:  “I expect they taste good.”

Kate (horrified):  “Do you mean…the deer?”

Me:  “Yup.”

Kate (even more horrified):  “You’ve eaten deer???”

Me:  “Yup.  My dad made deer and pork sausage one year.  It was excellent.”

Kate:  “That’s disgusting.”

I have bad news for this kid.  She obviously doesn’t remember it, but she’s eaten deer too…

Gum

Me (having discovered a plop of gum on the living room floor):  “WHO HAD GUM?  YOU KNOW YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE GUM IN MY HOUSE!  BECAUSE THIS SORT OF NONSENSE HAPPENS!”

I round up the usual suspects.  The usual suspects, as usual, plead innocence and/or utter ignorance.

Kate:  “Not me.  I don’t even LIKE gum.”

Mark:  “I had gum.”

Me:  “OH?”

Mark:  “But not in the living room.  In the sandbox.”

Me:  “WHAT?”  (a pause whilst I think through what he said.)  “Where is that gum now?”

Mark:  “I dropped it IN the sandbox.”

Me (attempting calm, but having visions of him plucking up sand-covered gum to chew again.)  “Then what?”

Mark:  “Kate made me throw it out.”

Whew.  At least SOMEONE has developed some common sense.

 

Feeding Gollum

The Hobbit:  An Unexpected Journey came out on DVD recently.  Amazon shipped my copy pronto.

Every meal since has included this exchange:

Mark:  “Is it tasty?”

Kate:  “Is it juicy?”

Mark:  “Is is scrumptious?”

Both laugh maniacally.

 

Mark Disabuses Me of Culinary Delusions

So I made potato soup and challah for dinner last night.  I thought it turned out pretty well.  Not a universal opinion, apparently.

Mark:  “This bread is crunchy.  Is bread supposed to be crunchy?”

Me:  “Hush up and eat your dinner.”

Mark:  “I can finish my kool-aid in one gulp.”

Me:  “Should that be your new nickname?  ‘One-Gulp'”?

Mark:  “No.  ‘Stew-slinger.'”

Me:  “Stew-slinger?”

Mark:  “Yes.  This is why I want you to show me how to cook soup.  It will be useful on the battlefield.”

Me:  “How?” (I’m all impressed.  He’s thinking about operational logistics.  A warrior’s gotta eat, ya know.)

Mark:  “I will throw it at my enemies.”

Breakfast Battles

I pass out vitamins.

Kate:  “Octopus.”

Mark:  “Drat!  Fish.”

I realize then…they’re imaging who’d win a cage match between their vitamin animals.

Mark (not willing to give up):  “A fish with a laser.”

Kate:  “Eight legs.  Octopus still wins.”

Mark:  “Hmph.”

Mark’s Hollywood Future

I suspect Mark has a budding career waiting for him in Hollywood…

Mark:  “Wouldn’t Monster Rangers be a cool show?”

Me:  “What?”

Mark:  “You know, like Power Rangers, but the heroes have the power of monsters.”

Me:  “NBC is desperate enough…”

Really, it’s a not a bad concept. He’d already pitched a show concept a few months ago, the one about the Army helicopter pilot whose dog rides in the helo with him, wearing his own helmet.  I am not going to think too hard about the fact that my kindergartener a) pulls fascinating concepts out of the air with ease and b) pitches them a whole lot better than I pitch book concepts.

Mark:  “If there’s a show, there will need to be books.”

Yup.  You heard right.  The six year old has crossover marketing down cold.  AND he’d throwing me a bone.  There’ll need to be books, Mom.  You can write them. You know, for my hit show.

Mark Plans His Future

This morning on the way to school…

Mark:  “When I am a grown-up, I want you to drive me to grandma and grandpa’s, and I will live my life with them.”

Me:  “Okay.  But when you’re a grown-up, you’ll be able to drive yourself.”

Mark:  “I don’t know the way there.”

Me:  “I can give you a map.”

He’s clearly uneasy about this plan, so I figure it’s best to encourage caution in the rare moments when this child exhibits any.  “I can drive you the first time, and then you’ll know how.”

Mark (obviously relieved):  “Thanks!”

I should consider myself lucky, I suppose, he’s not planning to jump ship right now.  We just got back from a week  there, in which Grandpa cooked Mark whatever his little heart desired for breakfast.  Typically his little heart but outsized stomach desired a lot.  One morning he ate 16 pancakes, 2 fried eggs, and I lost track of the bacon.  It’s always a shock and disappointment, coming home, where breakfast is usually pop-tarts or frozen waffles.  Yesterday morning:

Mark:  “Will you make me pancakes?”

I had to drive them to school that morning anyway so I had a little extra time.  “All right.”

Pancakes are produced.  Chocolate-chip pancakes.

Mark:  “These are the best!”

Me (unable to resist):  “What about Grandpa’s?”

Mark (scornful, like I should have understood I was out of my league):  “These are the best.  Grandpa’s are the BEST of the best.”

Calculated Meal

My head is full of snot and Sudafed at the moment but I’m pretty sure the conversation at dinner last night went like this:

Sam:  “Hey, Mom, did you know there’s as many numbers between 0 and 1 as there are between 1 and infinity?”

Me (clutching a mug of chicken broth):  “Mmh?”

Paul:  “Everybody knows that.”

Sam (perplexed):  “I don’t see how that can be true.”

Paul (condescending):  “It is.”

Sam:  “Shouldn’t the space between 1 and infinity be bigger?”

Paul:  “The numbers between 0 and 1 are also infinite.”

Sam:  “Shouldn’t the other infinity be bigger?”

Paul:  “Infinity’s infinity, doofus.  You don’t know anything about math.”  (gearing up) “What’s the square root of -1?”

Sam (skeptical):  “You can’t take the square root of a negative number.”

Paul:  “It’s i.”

Sam (incredulous).  “i is a LETTER.  Not a NUMBER.”

Paul:  “It’s the square root of negative one. I studied this for TWO WEEKS.”

Sam:  “But what IS it?”

Paul (not really understanding the concept either):  “A little squiggly i with a dot.”

Sam:  “?”

Kate:  “What’s the square root of -2?”

Paul and Sam throw her irritated looks.  She ignores them.

Kate:  “H.  That’s what comes after i.”

As it happens, choking warm chicken broth up into your nose as you laugh is no more comfortable than tea.

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