Tonight I had the longest and most complex conversation on the subject of bread crust that I’ve ever had in my life. It started at the pizza restaurant, after the waiter brought bread to the table. Aiden, like a lot of three-year-olds, doesn’t like the crust, so I asked him if I could have the crust of the piece of bread Tammy was buttering for him.
“You could have the crust if you want it,” he told me. I asked him if he was sure it was okay, and he said, “Yeah. I just eat the bread, but I don’t like the crust. But if you like the crust, you could have it. I don’t want it, but it’s okay if you have it, if you want it.”
I thanked him again, but he wasn’t finished. “It’s not up to me,” he said. “It’s up to yourself.”
Well, I was happy to have the benefit of his wisdom and benevolence.
We were at the restaurant to celebrate John’s birthday, which is tomorrow, and to pick names for our Thanksgiving gift exchange, which we forgot to do and had to take care of after we got back to the house. Kylie, as usual, was most enthusiastic about her food. She sat next to her daddy so she could take what she wanted from his plate as well as her own. She seems to have a real gourmet taste. Or anyway, she loved the tortilla soup.
Aiden sat next to me and insisted that I draw in his coloring book. He didn’t much want to color anything himself, but he did enjoy dive bombing the crayons off the table and onto the floor, for as long as that was allowed to last. He had me draw pictures of his brothers, a red D.J. and a blue Dakota. So even though they weren’t with us tonight, they were represented artistically.
After dinner, I wasn’t going to have dessert, but Aiden got a gigundis brownie. After eating all the whipped cream off the top, he very carefully and precisely carved it in half with his spoon, so that he could share it with me. So of course to keep him happy I ate my half. But just for Aiden, not for the brownie.