I don’t know if I ever told you guys this, but Jakob is a picky eater. Seriously. He is. What foods he likes literally changes day to day, moment to moment. As a family, we “joke” about it a lot, but it’s flippin frustrating at times. Like when I was going through his school bag one day and the brown paper bag that housed his lunch the night prior was still there in his book bag. I didn’t think much about it at the time. I just tossed the crumpled up lunch bag into the trash.
Now, you might think
I’m crazy, to hang around with you. Or maybe you think I’m lucky, to have something to do that lunches would be easier to deal with than dinners. I’m not sure why you would think that, cause it ain’t true. At all. Not only does Jakob have a tempermental eating style, the kid’s “allergic” to peanut butter. WTF?!?!? Nothing's easy. Toss in his pickiness and the only kind of sandwich the kid will eat is Ham. Oh, and no cheese, btw.
The kid don't know what he's missing!!!
So, to find his lunch bag still in his book bag after the school day was over, well, that was mildly irritating. But, if there's one thing your friendly neighborhood jman is good at, it’s ignoring shit. After a few days of finding his lunch in his school bag, though, even I had to find out what the deal was.
Turns out the lil turd was eating everything, but the sandwiches! WTF?!?!? Why couldn’t Jakob just be like every other kid and either trade up his sandwich or throw it the hell out? Noooooo…he had to leave it in his bag for me to find and be supremely irritated by. I couldn’t take it anymore and pulled him aside one day.
The Earl of Sandwich would not be pleased with Jakob.
“Jakob.” I called out to the boy as he walked toward me in the kitchen.
“Yes, Fadder?” He asked in his usual carefree style.
“Why aren’t you eating the sandwiches I pack you for lunch?” I asked.
He shrugged indifferently, like I was asking him if he understood Stephen Hawking’s theories on the universe. “I don’t know.”
How could he not know? I gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean, 'you don’t know'?”
“I don’t like them, I guess.”
“Since when don’t you like ham sandwiches?”
“I don’t know. Awhile.”
“Jakob.” I said, feeling a smidge frustrated. “You’ve been eating them all year. Now all the sudden you don’t like them?”
He shrugged in reply.
Well, you can’t argue with that kind of logic. “Ok. Fine. What kind of sandwich would you eat then, your majesty?”
“Ummm…” He said thoughtfully looking into the ether. “Chicken patty.” He said with a satisfied nod.
“What??? Chicken patty?”
“Yea. You know.” He put his hands together to form a circle, because apparently I’m an idiot. “The round ones”
How the boy probably sees me.
“Yea. I know what you’re talking about.” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with him. “How are you going to eat them?”
Jakob shrugged again in reply. If nothing else, the kid was an excellent communicator.
“There’s no microwave at school for you to heat them up.” I continued.
“So? All my friends eat chicken patties.”
“I’m sure they do, you follower. But, I’m sure they buy them at school. You know, where they serve them…HOT”
“Ok?” Jakob questioned.
“Your's will be cold.”
“Jakob, chicken patties are frozen when you buy them.”
“But, it won’t be frozen when I eat them at lunch.”
“You can’t eat raw chicken patties, Jakob!!!”rageofjared.blogspot.com
“Actually, Dad, They’re not raw.” Sarah chimed in from across the living room. “They’re cooked. They’re just flash frozen.”
“Where did you come from?” I asked, shooting her a dirty look.
“I’ve been sitting here the whole time, listening to you two geniuses go back and forth.” She replied from the computer desk.
“Mind your own business.” I said, more than slightly annoyed with her intrusion.
“Just sayin.” She replied in her archetypal 15 year old style.
Welcome to my own private Idaho. “Mind your own business.” I repeated, holding my dirty look just a moment longer. I turned my attention back to Jakob. “I’m not giving you chicken patties for lunch. Got it?” I said, slamming my hand down on the counter. “You can keep eating ham sandwiches. And that’s the end of it.”
So let it be written. So let it be done.
But, it really wasn’t…