I gave Biscuit a choice of a grilled cheese sandwich or a peanut butter sandwich for dinner tonight. I'm still sick and didn't feel like cooking, and Jeff was still at work. He chose peanut butter and seemed pretty excited about it.
Biscuit isn't opposed to the crusts on the bread, but sometimes he has a hard time biting them. So I cut his sandwich in half for him. That was fine. But then I tore one of those halves in half, thinking it would help him eat around the crusts.
Boy, I couldn't have been more wrong. "No break, Mom! No break!" Then he wanted me to put the two pieces of the sandwich back together.
I held the two pieces together so the edges matched, but that apparently wasn't right. "Other side, Mom. Other side."
I tried to explain to him that the other sides didn't fit together, but I think it would've been easier explaining a whale lying in my front yard.
I was sharing this story just now with Jeff, and his only comment was, "Now you can feel my broken fruit pain."
Yes. Yes I can.
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