Whole Apples. And Other Stuff.

Mike doesn’t believe in giving the kids whole apples. “They always waste them,” he says. And it’s true. They do. They do waste them.

It’s complicated though. They really love eating whole apples. Well, part of whole apples.

And none more than Summer – who flies into a complete and unreasonable rage any time anyone offers her a mere part of anything. A bite of your ice cream cone? A cut up slice of an apple? Outrageous. You should have seen when I tried to give her half of Anders’ piece of licorice this morning. It was thrown on the floor as she melted into a pool of furious misery over the slight. Eventually she composed herself and ate it, of course. Half a licorice is better than none. (Though not much better.)

In any case. Every once in awhile one feels disposed towards giving the wee little child an entire apple – to chew, and cart about the house, and even waste as she pleases.

Penny pointed out to me yesterday that my last recordings in our “funny things the kids have said” notebook were in 2014. Surely someone has said something funny since then? (I’m certain I’ve written things they’ve said on my blog since then, but that notebook is read and laughed over, and the sayings remembered and repeated, so I must get back on the job.) Anyway, as I pulled that out this afternoon to see what some of my last recordings were, my eyes landed on this:

“Anders always wants to eat apples whole rather than cut in pieces. I rarely let him because he wastes too much, but, whenever he asks for one and I start cutting it, he begins yelling, ‘FIX IT! FIX IT!’ And starts to cry.”

So, apparently this has been a bit of a thing in our family.

Ah well. I shall leave you with a bit from the last recorded pages in the notebook.

“We were in the car waiting to pick up Daisy from piano lessons the other day when the teacher’s very small dog wandered out onto the porch.

Almost-three-year-old Anders said, “That’s a cute dog, Mom.” Then confused, “Oh. Actually . . . I think it’s a cat.”

“You were right. It’s a dog,” I said. “It’s just kind of a small dog.”

“Yah,” agreed Anders, “and it’s called a cat.”

Later, when the dog had gone back in the house, Anders asked, “Where’s that cat dog?”

Cat dog. How humiliating for the little creature.

The end.