Hubby was nice enough to make P dinner tonight. We had leftover homemade fried rice and P didn't like it the first time around (him spitting it out onto the floor was the first clue) so he got his own meal this round. Jake made him a big plate of macaroni and cheese, garden vegetables, and five (got that? 5!) chicken nuggets.
"Five chicken nuggets AND macaroni and cheese?" I asked incredulously.
"Well, there were only five left and it seemed silly to make three and leave two," Hubby replied.
"Why didn't you make two and leave three then?" I snidely remarked.
Guess how many chicken nuggets P ate? That's right. Two. Guess how many bites of vegetables he ate? Yeah, I don't even have to say it, do I?
Hubby says, "It's OK, whatever he doesn't eat you will."
And yes, I wanted to, but because of that comment, I didn't. I wasn't hungry, I just hate throwing away food. Something my mom shoved down my throat about starving kids in China.