More Musings

Tonight, Brandon and I decided to celebrate life over two savory, perfectly seasoned, bleeding, half-mooing slices of cow. -More sophisticated people refer to it as "steak".

They came off the grill, sizzling, and smelling divine.

The kids' steaks which were really just glorified hamburger patties,( hey, back off... We don't cast our pearls before swine.) came off first, so I cut them up and dispensed ketchup.

We prayed, and eventually all sat down to eat.

Brandon, looking very smug over his manly provision, glanced over to find Graysen staring at this unidentified food with unquestionable disdain.

Okay, Side note--

Every night is a fight with this one. She never wants to eat what is put in front of her. It's some sort of pre-adolescent rebellion. I don't know.

Anyway, resume.

So Daddy points out, logically-go figure, that tonight she shouldn't want to make a fuss about eating because steak- especially steak cooked by Daddy, is a delicacy.

This, to Brandon's frustration, served only to increase the whining. The word steak could now be reiterated in a tiny, nasally, God-forsaken little voice to emphasize the object to which the 3 year old objected.

Anyways, the battle raged on until Brandon nonchalantly said, "But Graysen don't you like hamburger?...It's not steak, it's hamburger."

She replied, "Hmph." in a little high pitched grunt, and gobbled it all down before we had a chance to say anything else about it. I'm telling you, swine. Pin It