High-Low {that time Grace met a bear?}

We played high-low tonight at dinner. Here is how our days went...

Me--
High: Seeing Henry's face when he realized Daddy was in the car to come pick him up after school.
Low: When Gracie fell asleep on the couch and had a potty accident.

Daddy--
High: When Mommy let me sleep in a little bit.
Low: When Gracie woke me up by yelling "I had mini wheats!" in my face.

Henry--
High: When I beat a level and got a comet star. (in Super Mario Galaxy 2)
Low: Hmmmm....I didn't have a low. It was all highs.

Grace--
High: When I put on my jacket and beat up a bear.
Low: When the bear tried to hit me in the head.

A Real Conversation

Attempt #3,427 to teach my kids that good choices lead to happy consequences and bad choices to sad--

Me: If you let Mommy sleep in past 8:30 tomorrow, we will stay in our Jammies until lunch and bake chocolate chip cookies.

Henry: What happens if we wake you up early?

Me: Well, I won't have slept in so I can guarantee it won't include chocolate, cookies, or jammies.

Henry: So, like running errands and doing chores?

Me: Exactly. AND you will have to get dressed.

Grace: (dramatically falls to the floor) NOT DRESSED!!!

A Real (political) Conversation

We took the kids with us to vote this morning.  Henry went with me into the voting booth.

Henry:  Why are you doing this?
Me:  I'm voting.  I do it because it is a privilege to live in a country that lets its people choose its leaders.  When I fill in this circle, it means that I want that person to be my leader.

I then went through each section (here in VA that was President, a Senator, a Congressman, and two Constitutional Amendments), reading him the names of each candidate and which political party each one represented.

Henry:  So you are picking the good guy, right?  Which ones are the bad guys?
Me: chuckling Well, you could ask different people that and they would give you different answers.  But let me tell you the truth:  it's complicated.  Each of these people has worked hard serving their country.  They've gone about it in different ways and have different ideas of what is best for everyone, but they are BOTH good guys.  Do they always make good choices?  No.  Sometimes they make bad choices.
Henry:  Bad choices mean sad consequences.  (This phrase gets said countless times in our house every day.)
Me:  Yes.  That is true.  And when an elected leader makes a bad choice, the sad consequence happens to a lot of people.  But every few years, we get to pick again. 
(pause)
Henry:  Can I go get my sticker now?
Me:  Yes.  You can go get your sticker now.  I'll even let you feed my ballot into the box.  (But that was a lie.  They didn't let him.  I had to do it.  But he carried it to the box for me.)

A Real {holy} conversation

I debated about posting this.

It is simultaneously a private matter and something I want to shout from the rooftops.  But I am posting this not for you dear reader, but for my son.  I want to give permanency and weight to the conversation that happened while kneeling next to his sister’s bed.  Because in addition to this blog being a place for me to write, vent, and just be, it is also the closest thing to a baby book that my kids are going to get.  (Much to the dismay of my mother.)  

So readers, my prayer is that this installment of a real conversation blesses you.  I pray you stand alongside me and marvel at God’s work in my family.

****

We were reading our bible story, as we do every night.  The story was Jesus’ ascension.  We’ve read it countless times.  Henry’s bible—Sally Lloyd-Jones’ the Jesus Storybook Bible—poses the question at the end of the story—“‘How can Jesus be with us and leave at the same time?’ they (the disciples) wondered.”    

The story ended and we were about to move on to Curious George and the Puppies when Henry asked, “Mom, how CAN Jesus be with us when he is also in heaven?”  

“Well,” I said, trying to reach back into my semesters of Systematic Theology and distill them into something for an almost 5 year old, “it is true that Jesus is alive in Heaven seated at the right hand of the Father.  But it is also true that Jesus is here with us as well because of the Holy Spirit.”  As I type this, I humbly confess that what I said was true and correct but also that it doesn’t really clarify the issue.  To be clear, I’m not quite certain of all the logistics.  Thankfully, Henry helped me.

“Are you talking about how Jesus lives in your heart and in heaven?”

“Yes!  That is exactly what I meant to say.  Jesus lives in heaven and in my heart.”  

He placed his small hand awkwardly on my chest and then leaned his head in whispering, “Jesus, Jesus.”   He sat up.  “Is Jesus in my heart?”

I cleared my throat.  “Well, have you asked him to be?  Jesus knocks and knocks on the door of everyone’s heart, but he isn’t rude.  So he only barges in if he is invited.”  

“Oh.”  He cocked his head to the side and bit his lip.  “I don’t think I’ve asked him into my heart.  How do you do that?”

Tears welled up my eyes.  “Well, you pray.  You say something like, “Hey Jesus!  I know that my heart is broken and I can’t fix it.  I sin and need you to rescue me.  Will you come live in my heart?” 

He sat upright.  He was very serious.  Or as serious as you can be when it is April and you are in your Christmas pajamas and your little sister is telling Jesus themed knock-knock jokes as she hurls herself off her rocking chair over and over again because Mommy is otherwise engaged.

“Ok,” he said, “I want to pray just what you said.  But we should kneel and say Dear Jesus and not Hey Jesus.”

“Okay, you pray to Jesus however you want.  He loves to hear your voice.”  So I knelt next to my son and listened to him pray the sweetest prayer.  The prayer his Daddy and I have been praying to hear for over 5 years.  

“Dear Jesus, I need you.  Sometimes I sin and am selfish and don’t obey Mommy and Daddy.  Will you come live in my heart and save me?  Amen.”  

Then he looked at me, BEAMING, and said, “Give me a high five, Mommy.  Jesus is in my heart!”

High fives, indeed, my son who is now my brother.  High fives, indeed.

A Real MLK conversation

I feel sort of bad that I didn't throw a big party for MLK day.  Please don't think it is because I ignored the enormity of Dr. King's heart, or his willingness to speak out against hate. I dressed Gracie in her birthday gift overalls, because I understand that even the legality of our family is a gift that is due to his work and the civil rights activists who came behind him.

It's just that, well, you see, Dr. King had this dream where little brown girls could grab the hands of little white boys and walk as brother and sister and mainly that has looked a lot like WWF wrestling as of late in my family room.

We did have a play date with our friends Jacob and Jeremiah who are originally from Ethiopia and we ate Oreos as a MLK treat.  I think you'll appreciate the humor in the fact that the children adopted from Ethiopia told this white woman her bathroom was dirty and they almost didn't want to use it.  So they are totally American now.  And no, that's not dirt.  The seat is just chipped and we are cheap.

We watched the "I Have a Dream" speech this afternoon and it was not as deep or profound for my children as I'd hoped it would be.  Gracie was chanting "Dabba Dabba?  I want Dabba Dabba!!"

It seems that the masses of people on the mall are no comparison to DJ Lance Rock and Biz Marquee's Beat of the Day.  Please know that when I hear Dr. King say With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.  With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood, I am moved to tears.  And that when I hear those cracked out Gabba trees sing about sharing my ears bleed and I want to stab my eyes with a fork.

Also, Henry thinks the speech is too long to watch without snacks.  He considers going twelve minutes without a bag of goldfish as epic suffering. Henry just cannot wrap his brain around the sufferings of injustice Dr. King withstood.  He doesn't have a compartment in his brain into which to place racism.  I've tried to explain it and he. just. doesn't. get. it.  The conversation went something like this...

Me: So do you know why we celebrate King Day?
Henry:  Because we don't have school.
Me:  Yes.  You don't have school because it is Martin Luther King, Jr. day.
Henry:  Yes.  That's right.  But I like school.
Me:  I'm glad you like school.  But we celebrate the work of a man named Dr. King today because he spoke out against mean people.
Henry:  I don't like mean people.
Me:  Yes.  Me either. 
Henry: Why were the people mean?
Me:  Well, there were laws that were mean to people with brown skin.
Henry:  Gracie has brown skin.
Me:  Yes.  And there were people with pink skin who were mean to the people with brown skin and the people with pink skin were selfish and greedy and hurtful.

Henry:  I have pink skin!
Me:  Yes.  You do have pink skin.
Henry:  But I'm only mean to Gracie when she hits me.  And she never shares her toys with me.  And sometimes she sits on my head and screams, "I'm a hat!  I'm a hat!" and I don't like that.
Me:  (thinking, I got nothin') Uhhhhh....
Henry:  You have pink skin too.
Me:  Yes, I have pink skin too.  We say that people with pink skin are white and people with brown skin are black.
Henry:  But we're pink, not white.  And Gracie is brown, not black.  And I think you shouldn't be mean to people or be greedy.  That's not sharing or showing the love of Jesus.
Me:  No, no.  You're right.  But, back to Martin Luther King, Jr.
Henry:  Junior?  Like the asparagus?  You know I like Veggietales.  Pistachio is my favorite.  We got that CD at Chick-fil-a.  Did you know I like Chicken and french fries?
Me:  Yes, I know you like chicken and french fries.  And believe me, I know you like to listen to Pisctachio.  But there were these white people...
Henry:  BUT NO ONE IS WHITE!!!  MY SKIN IS PINK!! And maybe a little brown.  And I don't get what this has to do with Veggietales.
Me:  Nothing.  It has nothing to do with Veggietales.  Except the Veggietales love Jesus and so did Martin Luther King, Jr.  So anyway, there were these pink people who did mean things to the brown people and they wanted to keep the brown people away from the pink people.
Henry:  Mommy, you are not making any sense.  Why do the pink people care about where the brown people are? Are the brown people taking the pink people's toys without asking?  Because that makes me mad when Gracie does that and she's brown and I'm pink.  But I don't do mean things to her...okay, well, sometimes I yell at her and then push her.
Me:  Henry, that's not what I'm talking about at all.  Martin Luther King day sort of has to do with sharing and all, but really I just want you to know that God used Martin Luther King to speak out against sin.
Henry:  Sin is bad.  Did you know Jesus died for my sins?
Me:  Yes.  I know that.
Henry: On the cross.  It hurt.  I think he died for the pink people and the brown people.  He loves everybody.  Even you, Mommy.
Me:  Thank you.  Sooooo....do you want to watch another Martin Luther King, Jr. speech?  Or maybe I could read this board book about him?
Henry:  No thank you.  I'd like to watch Yo Gabba Gabba.  DJ Lance is a brown guy.  And Roby is green.  And foofa is pink like me.
Me:  Yes, Henry.  She is pink.  Just. Like. You.

MLK day fail. 

A Real Conversation

Clearly, my son is not also reading the children's version of 7.  Or making any plans to give up HFCS anytime soon...

Henry:  You know what, Mom? 
Me:  No.  What?
Henry:  I like cupcakes.
Me:  You do?  I did not know that.
Henry:  My favorite thing about cupcakes is eating them.
Me:  That makes sense. 
Henry:  They are a good food to have at parties.
Me:  Yes.  You are right.  Cupcakes are good to have at parties.
Henry:  Chocolate cupcakes are my favorite.  With chocolate icing.  But, you know, sometimes I have to eat cupcakes that aren't my favorite.  Sometimes I have to eat yellow cupcakes with white icing. 
Me:  I'm pretty sure you don't HAVE to eat the cupcakes.
Henry:  Yes I do.  If there are cupcakes there, I have to eat them.
Me:  I understand the logic, but again, you don't have to eat the yellow cupcakes if you don't want them.
Henry:  YES I DO!!! 
Me:  Okay.  Okay.  You can eat the yellow cupcakes even though they aren't your favorite.
Henry:  Wait. a. minute.  We have cupcakes?  Where are the cupcakes?
Me:  We don't have any cupcakes. 
Henry:  BUT YOU SAID I COULD EAT THE YELLOW CUPCAKES!!! 
Me:  If I let you play with your Leapad will you stop talking about the cupcakes we do not have?
Henry:  Yes!


(Fifteen minutes later, screaming, because he likes to wear headphones while he plays with his Leapad)

Henry (to no one in particular): I BET IF I ATE THREE CUPCAKES I WOULD GET SICK.

From the Request Line: This One goes Out to A

A friend and I were chatting on FB the other night about our disdain for laundry.  The conversation went something like this:  (ok, not something like…as in copied and pasted exactly like this):

A: Can you do me a favor? Can you write a super-tastic blog entry about doing laundry that will make me feel inspired, make me cry and laugh simultaneously, show me the gospel, and help me in general with that dreaded task? Top of Form

Thanks in advance ;)

Me: A. Clearly, you've missed the whole "I hate laundry" theme on the blog.
B. Have I mentioned how much I hate laundry?
C. I'll see what I can do.
D. By the way, what I hate most about laundry is the doing it.
E. I also hate putting it away. It's like the baskets full of clean, folded laundry just taunt me. Laughing, in their sweaters, saying. "You can't finish anything."

A:  A. I must be behind in my reading.

B. I haven’t heard that recently.

C. Thanks

D. giggle

E. Great big DITTO...this is where I'd like you to focus, the putting it away effort. Thanks again.

Around an hour and a half later, my friend got really sick.  Like “put you in the hospital and life is going to look drastically different for a good long while and possibly forever” sick.  

And because I’m a good friend, I sent her the following text yesterday afternoon, “So, you’re probably not so worried about your laundry now are you, huh?”

She called me back within seconds, laughing.  (Because she’s awesome like that.)  I told her, “So, to tell you how you being in the hospital is really all about me, it inspired me to put away three baskets of laundry.”  I know, you all wish I could be there for you in your darkest moments.

Thankfully, as I’ve mentioned before, my Bible Study group is studying Genesis.  (To give you some context, I've been in A's group since struggling with infertility.  I then co-lead the group with A for 3 years, before stepping down from leadership.  A still leads the group.)  And the morning before dreadful thing happened to A, we were studying the effects of the Fall.  The curse and Adam and Eve’s expulsion from the garden so that they couldn’t eat from the tree of Life in their fallen states.  

And so for you, my darling A who has pointed me to Jesus for so long, here is your Gospel according to my laundry basket moment:  Doing the laundry stinks.  

I could write about how we should all just but on our big girl panties and shut up and do the laundry without complaining.  I could remind you about how there are people who have to take their laundry to a Laundromat somewhere else and that’s gotta be a bigger pain in the butt than just seeing all that clean laundry piled up on your couch waiting to be folded.  And I could tell you that in terms of world problems, our mutual hatred of putting away the clean laundry ranks along par with “I’ve run out of Capri Suns and I’m too lazy to go to the store” and “my toddler only wants to eat cookies”.  And I could remind you of the simple truth that if you have laundry to do that means you have clothes.  And that if your laundry is sitting in baskets at the bottom of your stairs just waiting to be taken up and stared at for three days until you finally get around to putting it away, then that means you have a home and some people don’t.  And all of those kids who keep changing clothes 14 times a day?  Yeah, there are folks who ache to have that problem.  And there are kids who wish they had parents to clean their adorable teeny tiny socks.  And all of those things are true.

But what is also true is this:  sin affects EVERYTHING.  In Genesis 3, when God explains the consequences of the lie Adam and Eve believed, it basically tells us that we will not be in right relationship with our own bodies, with our families, with our work, with our identity, with all of creation.  There is no escaping it.  And we can couch all our attempts to escape the effects of the fall in Spiritual terms, and we should most certainly work towards bringing God’s image to bear in the midst of all the brokenness, but we can’t return to the garden.  We can’t use our faith to bypass the suffering surrounding us.  Our study’s notes say “We do not escape the suffering of the world by living a good life.  To believe this is to live with unbelievable pride and pressure.”  Pride and pressure that sometimes cascade off our couch and onto the family room floor. 

But here is another truth for you, dear laundry hater:  Jesus didn’t try to bypass the suffering.  Instead, he left the throne of heaven to enter into our suffering. And he didn’t just flip death off, he defeated it.

To speak of sin apart from the realities of creation and grace is to forget the resolve of God.  God wants shalom and will pay any price to get it back.  Human sin is stubborn, but not as stubborn as the grace of God and not half so persistent, not half so ready to suffer to win its way.”

-Cornelius Plantinga, Not The Way It’s Supposed to Be

Bottom of Form

A Real Adoption Conversation

I should’ve known it was coming. What with watching a cow being born at the state fair, and his fairy Godmother having a baby.   

Henry and I have been talking a lot lately about how he used to be in my tummy and the day he was born.  We look at the pictures of when I was on bedrest and pregnant with him and we talk about how he wanted to come too early because he was so excited to be our little boy.  So I had to stay in the hospital, almost upside down (yes, Henry, somewhat like a bat), until it was time for him to come out into the world.  So it was only a matter of time that he wondered about Gracie as well.*

Setting: At the dinner table with Grace, Henry, and my 12 yr old niece, Rebekah (over to help me with the kids since Sloan is in PA)

Henry:  Rebekah, did you know Auntie Ann had a baby come out of her tummy and she feeds baby Katherine with her milk?  

Rebekah blushes at the discussion of breastfeeding.

Henry:  And I was in mommy’s tummy.  I was born on my birthday and was a little baby.

Rebekah: (laughing) Yes, you were.

Me:  And Rebekah was in Aunt Sonya’s tummy and was a little baby too.

Henry:  And Gracie was in your tummy?

Me:  Actually, God did something different for Gracie.  She grew in another Mommy’s tummy.  We call her Gracie’s birthmother.

Henry:  Bird mother?

Me:  Birthmother.  Gracie grew in Miss C’s tummy but she was very sick and she didn’t have a Daddy for Gracie.  And and we did have a Daddy for her, so when Gracie was born, we adopted her.  That’s how she came to our family.  So while you grew in my tummy, Gracie grew in my heart.

Henry:  Oh.  (Pause) Did you know I like to cut shapes out of pictures?

Nice.  

*I’m fairly certain that in all of the adoption books and manuals we read, the first adoption conversation was supposed to be more profound and moving than this one. 

A Real Conversation

Henry:  Mommy, we need green pigs.

Me:  Green pigs?  What?

Henry:  Gracie and I built buildings for the green pigs.

Me:  What are you talking about?

Henry:  (laughing)  You know, for the angry birds.  

Nice.  Me thinks Henry's had a little too much Ipad time.  And to answer your next question, yes, they did throw stuffed animals at the towers to knock them down. 

A Real Conversation

Henry:  Mom, don't you have some work you need to do?
Me:  Umm, I always I have work I need to do.  But I'm enjoying playing Legos with you and Gracie.
Henry: But if you did work on the 'pooter, we could watch TV.
Me: (laughing) I'll let you watch some TV while I work during Gracie's naptime.
Henry:  But Gracie likes TV too. 
Me: (looking at Gracie jump up and down on the trampoline) I think she's okay.  We'll wait until she goes to sleep.
Henry:  I guess that's okay.  Mickey Mouse is On Demand.
Me: I'm glad my work schedule is to your liking.
Henry: Yeah.  It's cool.

High threshold for pain, Low threshold for discomfort

This morning my son had a meltdown.  We're talking Chernobyl.  The reason?  There was only one Nutrigrain Bar left and I was forcing him to choose between sharing it with his sister or having none at all. 


Me:  There's only one left.  You'll have to share it.
Henry (through immediate uncontrollable sobs)  But I want to eat all of it!
Me:  Do you think Gracie likes Nutrigrain bars?
Henry:  (gasping for breath) Yes.
Me:  Do you think it would make her sad to see you eating the bar if she couldn't have any of it?
Henry:  (literally falling out of his chair onto the floor he is so distraught)  Yes.
Me:  (choking back laughter) And do you want to make her sad?
Henry:  (Attempting to climb back into his chair while writhing in agony) No, I don't want to make her sad.  BUT I WANT TO EAT ALL OF IT!  I DON'T WANT TO SHARE IT!
Me: (Putting offending nutrigrain bar back in the pantry and making a mental note to get more at the store.)  Ahhh, and there's the rub, Henry.  You being selfish makes her sad.  And that's not loving her very well, is it?
Henry:  (Head on kitchen island, covered with crossed arms) I WANT TO LOVE HER BUT I WANT IT FOR MYSELF!
Me:  (convicted for hearing my own sin in my son's words, suddenly NOT so funny).  Loving well is hard.  It IS.  But you CAN do it.   Jesus gave us everything he had in order to love us, so I think you can give Gracie half of your Nutrigrain bar.
Henry:  (Pops his head up, face splotchy, not crying, but still gasping for breath.)  How 'bout we just give her a little bit of it?  Is that loving her enough?
Me:  (laughing, once again hearing my own voice in my son's.) You want to share the Nutrigain bar?
Henry:  Yes.  But not all of it.  Not all of it, Mommy.


This transaction ended much better than the Banana splitting episode of yesterday (because he just can't eat an entire banana), the turn off the TV showdown of pretty much everyday (because why would you be okay with one show if you think you should be able to watch two?), or the uber-earth shattering meltdown of going to a new Sunday School class from Mother's Day. 

So, could someone please explain to me why it is that this very same boy does NOT freak out at his 4 year well visit when it was time for his shots?  He was sitting all cuddled up in my lap so the nurse could stab his thigh once and his arm twice.  I told him the nurse was going to give him some medicine in his arm and leg.

Upon the shot in his thigh...
Henry:  (deadpan) Ooh.  That hurts.  That medicine is giving me a boo boo.

Upon the first shot in his arm....
Henry:  That pinches.

And the second...
Henry:  I'm sorry, Nurse, I don't think I like this.

And as she donned his superhero band-aids...
Henry:  Thank you for the medicine, Nurse Johnston.  Sorry I not like it.


I'm sorry?  I don't think I like this?  Thank you? 

And yet at the prospect of only getting half of a Nutrigrain bar he melts down.  I suppose my son is more like me than I realized...high threshold for pain, low threshold for discomfort. 

Heaven help us all...

Rocket Man (Overheard)

I confess.  I was eavesdropping.  Through the closed bathroom door.  I love my son. 

Henry:  5!  4!  3!  2!  1!  Blast out the Pooooooopy!  Way to goooo Henry!  Yeah Henry's bottom!  You go poopy on the potty!  And now.....relax....and....pee-pee!  Woo-hoo!  Yeah Henry's penis!  You go pee-pee on the potty!  Henry. You.  Are.  Awesome.

Oh, to love myself enough to congratulate myself upon successful bodily functions.

A Real Conversation

To give you some context, two of my sister's kids are staying with us this week.  Her eldest son is the lead in CYT's Aladdin and four of her other kids are in the show as well.  So she's a little busy helping people fly and the like.  She asked me to babysit a couple of times, but really it's just easier if they stay here and I don't have to drive anywhere to get them...  And Henry adores them.  Jonathan (7) and Isabel (4) are his closest besties.  It's been fun.  Particularly since Sloan is out of town. 

But the following is a real conversation between my nephew and me the afternoon before we went to Kids' Club at church.

Jonathan:  I don't want to go to Kids Club.
Me:  Why?
Jonathan:  It's not fun.
Me:  I don't believe you.  Pastor Brown is almost as funny as your Uncle Sloan.  He even knows magic.
Jonathan:  Yeah....but....I don't have any friends there.
Me:  Really?  None?
Jonathan:  No. 
Me:  Is it because you are kinda new there?
Jonathan:  No.  It's just.... everybody hates me.
Me:  Everybody?
Jonathan:  (growing more whiny)  Yes.  Everybody hates me.
Me:  I doubt that everybody hates you.  Maybe a couple of people.  But not everybody...

He sulked away and proceeded to hide in a crawl through tunnel.  Five minutes passed of him just sulking in the tube.  So I went to him.

Me:  Jonathan, come out of the tunnel.  Let's talk about going to church tonight.  I think you should go, but I'm not going to force you.  But I think if you go, you'll have fun.
Jonathan:  (really, really whiny)Well...it's not that I don't like it.  I just want to go play in the playground at Chick-Fil-A.  Chick-Fil-A is more fun than Kids Club.
Me:  (roaring laughter)  Go put your shoes on.  We're going to church.

I'd like a digital upgrade

Parenting is like listening to an 8-track.  Remember those?  Those giant rectangles you pushed in and just listened to?  If you didn't like the song that was playing, you just had to suffer through it and wait until it was over.  There was no fast forward or DVD Fast Play option.

The current track we are stuck on in the Phillips house is the Hunger Strike.  My sister assures me that this phase will end somewhere between 4 and 5, so it is apparently a LONG track.

At my dinner table, you are not allowed to whine about what is set in front of you.  Not allowed to make faces or declare it is yucky.  Should you do so, you will have to set in the "Collection Chair".  The collection chair is just the extra dining chair in the corner of our dining room.  Approximately 2 feet from Henry's actual chair at the table.  It is where he goes to "collect" himself and change his mood.  Or, if need be, he can just sit in the chair and cry.  And if he wanted to spend the entire meal there, he could.  We'd still talk to him.  He'd just need to apologize for being rude prior to returning to the table.  Most of the time, he sits himself in the chair, calms down, and then quietly returns to the dinner table, whispering "I'm sorry" in Sloan's ear.  But mind you, he still doesn't touch his food.  Sometimes he sits the entire meal with his hands over his eyes. 

Because, you know, if he can't see us then we can't see him.  (One of the many times I have to refrain from laughing at my child for the sake of discipline and decorum.)

He has gone to bed without dinner on numerous occasions and has even looked at his plate and said, "Mommy?  Can I just not eat this and go to bed now?"  On particularly long days, I have obliged him.  He'll just eat three bowls of Cheerios, a yogurt, and a banana the next day for breakfast. 

But it is difficult because his idea of the perfect meal changes.  I do honestly try to make him something at every meal he enjoys.  If we are having fish, I try to serve green beans and rice as sides.  But then he'll go and decide he hates green beans.  Or I'll make chicken and he'll say he doesn't want white chicken he wants brown chicken.  (Whatever that is.) 

For lunch he'd prefer to eat either pepperonis or little smokies every day with a Dora yogurt, some grapes, and an apple.  Do not offer him a PB&J or grilled cheese or you will experience some major llama drama.  I recently introduced the oh so healthy peanut butter crackers and those captain's wafers cream cheese and chive crackers and those were a hit.    So at least we've ventured out of the meat in a baggy when I need to pack him a lunch for school.

He has also stated that all he really wants to eat is meat, specifically high quality beef.  Here was our conversation this afternoon.

Me:  You can have either sliced turkey or sliced ham for lunch.  What do you want?
Henry:  How 'bout steak?
Me:  No.  Turkey or ham.
Henry:  How 'bout beef?
Me:  No.  That's steak too.  Turkey or ham.
Henry:  How 'bout fiwet?
Me:  Geez.  (laughing) That's steak too.  Turkey or ham.
Henry:  Tenderwoin?
Me:  Good grief, sweet boy.  That's steak too.  Enough with the steak.  You're having turkey.
Henry:  And strawberry Dora yogurt?
Me:  Yes, with strawberry Dora yogurt.
Henry:  And steak too?
Me:  You are your father's son.
Henry:  Of course I am.