King Michael

Making meals is always a chore, but I have a particular dislike for lunch. I think it should be banned on account of being the most annoying meal of the day. This is why lunches around here generally consist of such gourmet fare as tortillas and cheese, macaroni, or a can of spaghettios. I will throw in an apple or a handful of baby carrots as penance for the fake food, but anything beyond that is just too much work.

So yesterday, when I knew I had dinner leftovers waiting for me in the fridge (a rarity during tax season, since the lunch blahs generally extend to dinnertime when David is not home to eat), I decided it was worthy of a small celebration. So Michael and I ate our leftover chicken and rice on the couch instead of at the table. Well, I sat on the couch. He snuggled himself underneath one of the couch cushions and demanded that I spoon-feed him on demand. "More! More!" he ordered in a kingly fashion (due to his upside-down position and wide-open mouth, it did feel rather like I was feeding grapes to Caesar). But since he was devouring the broccoli and chicken without complaint, I laughed instead of demanding that he sit up like a normal person.


He is still on a kingly kick this morning, having just yelled from his throne (where he is taking in an episode of Little Einsteins), "I want orange juice, Mom!" I did insist that he change his tone and ask politely for a drink ("May I have...?" is just so much nicer than "I want!") but since he just ran back to his former position and demanded that I join him this instant, I'm not sure the lesson is really sinking in.

Ah, well, I suppose I can indulge his royal demands for now. After all, his reign will only last till February, at which time he is expected to be dethroned by not one, but two royal hopefuls.

This could get interesting...