I was fielding an argument between Tre and Max at the breakfast table. Raphael was eating toast with Nutella, quietly absorbed in his breakfasting. Suddenly he broke into the conversation.
“Mama!” he reached out and grabbed my arm, “MAMA! HEY, MAMA!” I turned from my refereeing duties.
“I just ate a yiddle bug.”
We all fell silent and turned to look at him. He gestured with his toast.
“There was a yiddle bug on my toast and I ate ‘em.”
“You ate a little bug?”
Now, understand, this is the same child who will literally THROW UP if he finds so much as a fragment of strawberry in his mouth. Food has been regurgitated for the crimes of being too hot, too cold, too big a bite, or anything resembling any sort of fruit whatsoever. He is the pickiest eater ever known, and how he lives on what he eats I will simply never know. I suppose I should be happy that he’s supplementing with some extra protein.
”It was just a yiddle bug,” he reiterated.
“Ah. Well. Next time show me the little bug and I’ll get rid of it. Don’t eat any more bugs, ok?”
“Ok. Don’t eat the bugs.”
And he went on with his breakfast, calm as could be.
I, on the other hand, did not enjoy my breakfast nearly as much as I had been.