I've always heard stories about kids and food. Playing with it, eating (or not eating) it, whatever. In the past couple of weeks, I've run into a few stories of my own - the culmination of which has made me ask,
"What the?!"Sarah to Landon: "No Landon, no more broccoli until after you eat some chicken"
(or, replace chicken with turkey for a repeat performance tonight)
Liza to Tyler: "I'll race you! I bet I can eat my asparagus faster than you!"

Sarah: "hey, Liza - we're having cereal for lunch. What kind do you want?"
Liza:
"I don't want cereal. I want a sandwich."
Sarah: "Fine. Peanut butter?"
Liza: "Do we have any
tuna?"
Sarah thinking: "PBJ - two spreads and you're done. Tuna - open can, drain can, mix in condiments, make sandwich, add cheese, rinse can. Technically, yes - I've got at least a month's worth in "food storage" aka "the basement." Upstairs? NO."
Sarah: "No"
Liza: "What about in the basement?"
Sarah:
(summoning all the acting skills that come with motherhood) Oh yes! We DO!! Feel free to get some." (okay - I'm proving my complete laziness on so many levels with this story - but in my defense, it was Friday, we'd been at the pool and visiting all morning, and I was itching for the kids to be fed and off to quiet time ASAP). Off Liza goes to the basement, returning with her canned good.
Liza: "here you go."
Tuna for Liza. Lucky Charms for me and Landon.
Where'd these kids come from?