I'm not one to battle with kids about food. Eat it, don't eat it, whatever. But my kitchen isn't a restaurant so there is only what I put on the table, no but-I-don't-like-green-beans-so-make-me-something-else allowed chez Nicole. But I have to draw the line sometimes, somewhere. So today I bought some fresh ravioli from the Italian deli and Boy2 tried and didn't like them. Which I can accept. His solution was to skip straight to the sliced pears with warm allspice and chocolate ganache that were waiting on the counter. My solution was to offer a ham sandwich first so he wouldn't go back to school hungry. No, no, no. He actually started to throw a fit-like thing. So he was banned from the kitchen until he could manage himself a little better.
He came back a few minutes later, ready, he told me, to eat every bite of his ham sandwich. He sat down and started. I went downstairs to deal with laundry. He called me a few minutes later: I ate all my sandwich, every bite, now can I have the rest of the pears? Yes, of course, I said. He ate them all and licked the bowl. I brought the boys back to school. I came back and started cleaning up the kitchen. As I moved the chairs back from the table to sweep the floor, there were major remnants of a ham sandwich under Boy2's.
Now, the thing you must know about Boy2, his name is Raphaël. And, as my mother pointed out once his character started to reveal itself, in the story about the Archangel he was named after, he doesn't reveal himself to be an angel until the very end.
And if you're wondering why I post less about Boy1, Gabriel, it's not because I love him less but because he has far fewer secret plans and clever tricks. And when he does, they show in his eyes in an instant.