"More lettuce," Bardo screams at breakfast this morning.
"But I want the last piece," calls Pippi as I hand over a Romaine leaf to Bardo.
Bardo with his ridiculous grin, pops out his first sentence ever, "I love lettuce."
And Pippi cries. She cries because she knows it isn't true. She cries because she really does love lettuce. And she cries because Bardo seems to be rubbing it in. Bardo waves the leaf around chanting, "Lettuce lettuce lettuce." Is it possible for a child, not yet two, to torment his older sister? He then deliberately takes a large bite and then says, "Done." But he will not let go of the lettuce. He runs it around the kitchen island like a small flag, the dog following closely behind him.
Note: I do not serve lettuce for breakfast. This piece just happened to be leftovers from last night. Bardo happened to see it wilting on the counter when I put him in his high chair this morning.