dinner with mo

me: mo, come on honey, it's time for dinner.

mo: okay, honey! i so excited.

me: we're having some of your favorites...

(mo climbs up and sits down in her booster as we scoot her up to the table. joe and i sit down at the table, too. after we take our first bite, she then chooses to remind us that we forgot to buckle her in to the booster seat that she normally can't stand being buckled into. joe gets up and buckles her in.) 

mo: but i don't wanna be buckled in!

me: you just asked us to buckle you in.

mo: but i didn't.

(she's actually correct. all she did was point it out to us that we forgot to buckle her in.)

joe: (sighing) why don't we just eat?

mo: (pointing) whass that?

me: those are black beans.

mo: i don't wike black beans. whasss that?

me: yes you do, mo. you had them yesterday. that is roasted sweet potato.

mo: oh. okay.

(she sits there for a few moments and then lets out a long, dramatic sigh.)

mo: ahhhhhh. uggghhhh. i. don't. wike. bwack. beans.

(cue a few lip pouts and tears.)

me: marlo. yes you do. you told me yesterday that you loved them. why don't you just try them? you know our rule: you don't have to eat all of it but you must try everything.

mo: okay, fine. whassss that?

me: that is corn and chicken.

mo: dasss yellow. dassss bwack. dasss orange. dasss brown. look, mama! itssa colors!

me: i see! good job, mo! can you try your dinner, please?

(she picks up one single bean with her fingers and pops it into her mouth bregrudingly and then promptly spits it out onto her plate as if it's poison.)

mo: i have a big boogie, mama. (pause) i don't wike bwack beans.

(mo then takes a handful of beans and drops them onto the floor along with mumbling something about beans shouldn't be on her plate. meanwhile, i'm closing my eyes and counting to five. wisely, joe is silent and eating his supper.)

me: marlo mclean. we. do. not. throw. our. food. on. the. ground. you know this. if you do it again, i will take your plate from you and you will sit there until we finish.

mo: i don't like bwack beans.

me: that's fine. but don't throw your food. it can stay on the plate. just eat the other things that you DO like.

mo: but i didn't throw it.

(again, she's technically correct; she simply intentionally dropped it on the ground. with that said, she picks up more beans and drops them on the ground, this time making sure to mush some in between her fingers first. i begin to pray for patience.)

me: really, marlo mclean?! what did i just say about throwing your food? what did i say would happen?

(i take her plate away from her and, right on cue, she begins a dramatic series of sighs, screams, cries, and crocodile tears. i'm having none of it.)

mo: but mama! i wike my black beans! i want my black beans!

me: are you going to throw you food?

mo: but i didn't throw my food.



lord, help me.