Warning: The following is an actual conversation heard in my home.
“Mommmmmmmeeee, fix san-wich!!!”
“What’s wrong with your sandwich?”
“Dis. Dis broke. Fix it.”
“Hmm, do you mean that the two slices aren’t matching up anymore? Is that what is broke?”
“Okay, show me what is broken.”
Adjusts the two slices of bread so that all edges are realigned. “Is this what was broken?”
Screaming and crying ensues.
Sigh. Readjusts bread and holds sandwich for son to take bite of, while asking, “Here, try it again. Is this okay?”
Refuses to take bite. “NO!!! Dis broken. Me no like it mama. Fix it!”
Discards top slice of bread which is now rather worn. Folds remaining slice in half and hands to screaming child. “Here, I fixed it. Try it again.”
Throws sandwich on plate, raises decibel level of screaming. “Fix it! Fix it! Fix it!”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make this better.”
“Fix dis, pulleeesssssse!”
Unfolds sandwich, replaces top slice and hands to son. “Here honey, it will taste just fine. Just eat it, okay?”
Throws sandwich on plate. Time passes. Realizes that family is continuing with meal. Picks up sandwich, removes top slice of bread, folds remaining in half and begins eating.
That’s my life, day in, day out. Yeah me.