Dinner at Trailheadquarters

One of the rather many hardships we endure during Mr. T's international absences is the cooking of TK's breakfasts. Breakfast is usually the province of Mr. T, except on weekends when I make buckwheat pancakes or french toast or whatnot. Today, we had breakfast for dinner -- or at least TK did. He announced at 5:30 p.m. that he wanted a "yolk egg."

Uh-oh. I cannot prepare a proper fried egg to save my life. This is because up until birthing this little son-of-another-fried-egg-lover, I had never bothered to try. Principally because I find them disgusting. Mr. T and his progeny, on other hand, apparently find them a delicacy on par with the world's finest caviar.

So I gave it a try. I always give it a try, and I'm fortunate that TK has not yet developed a discriminating palate able to distinguish between his father's fried-egg masterpieces and my significantly inferior offerings.

I discarded the first effort, as I discovered after plating it that I had not cooked the white long enough. (Lovable Mutt was pleased, though, as I dumped it into her bowl along with some kibble and secluded her from the harassing attentions of Thomas so she could partake in peace.)

The second two eggs fared better, though one yolk popped in the pan and ran all over during the flipping process. TK did not notice, to my profound gratitude and relief. He ate the two eggs and mopped up the yolk with a slice of whole wheat bread. Then he announced he was still hungry.

"Get me some jelly bread," he demanded. We've been working on the politeness issue; and by that I mean I've been trying to teach him not to behave like Henry VIII at the table. After we'd worked that out and he'd issued a proper query on the availability of jelly bread, accompanied by a "please," he found himself presented with another slice of whole wheat bread spread thinly with organic strawberry jam.

I prepared my own dinner while he ate it.

"Mommy, can Lovable Mutt eat bread?" Because TK often asks whether the dogs can eat one item or another, I replied distractedly that, yes, the dog could eat bread but it might not be the best idea.

A few minutes later, he asked for another piece of jelly bread. TK often goes through growth spurts where he eats like a fiend. So while I would have preferred that he eat a piece of fruit or a vegetable, I get significantly more easygoing on these matters when Mr. T is gone. I served up another piece of jelly bread.

"Mommy, please cut off the brown. I don't like the brown."

I was puzzled. "But TK, you ate it on the other piece of --- wait a minute. Did you feed the crusts on the first piece to the dog?"

TK clearly knew he'd backed himself into a corner. If he admitted feeding it to the dogs, he was busted. If he didn't, that meant effectively admitting he'd eaten the crusts on the first piece, and he knew I'd say he could just eat them on this piece, too. He practically had "I am so screwed" tattoed on his forehead. So he tried another approach.

"Mommy, you didn't spread the jelly right. Daddy always spreads it in little circles."

Ahhh, a time-honored tactic. Look! Over there! Something shiny!

I know from experience this usually works on lawyers, and even sometimes judges. Parents, however, are generally made of tougher stuff.