My boys eat their dinner. Every night. Whatever is served. It just takes a l-o-n-g time. And a lot of whining. Every night. Whatever is served.
However - and here is indisputable proof that there really is something magic in the air in our mystical little "ville" - on vacation they ate white chicken enchiladas, chili, salad, and more. No whining.
Okay, so there was whining on chili night, but just from one. I'll let you draw your own conclusions as to which boy whined that night. I'm not telling, but his name doesn't start with a "C." And the whiner of the evening did in fact end up eating some of that horribly offensive chili (actually, it was pretty great).
We're back home and back to our l-o-n-g sessions at the dining room table, complete with plenty of whining. But as I sit there trying to convince my children to eat their spaghetti (yes, they even complain about spaghetti), I just take myself to my happy place. And I think about all the food they stuffed into their dirty little faces last week. And I hope these memories will be enough to get me through the next 51 weeks of l-o-n-g, whiney dinners.