Our new nanny spent the afternoon with the boys and me, just to start getting acclimated. Lyle, who has made it very clear to me that he’s “nervous” about both the new babysitter and starting nursery school, was not behaving in a particularly friendly manner. He clung to me for dear life and, every time she spoke to him, swatted his hand in her general direction and said, “Blech!” He’s been clingy for the past week as these changes have been approaching, but today was definitely the worst. By the last hour he started to look her in the face, smile a little, and even held her hand for a minute on the balance beam at the park.
But this success was tempered somewhat by my elder son choosing that hour to start acting like a total hooligan. I had to cut the park outing short due to bad behavior (as in, getting a mouthful of water and then spitting it all over the structure, just barely missing a 3-year old girl – whose mom was pissed – then getting benched by me, and then basically doing it again!!).
Obviously, my kids were showing their best sides for the new nanny. ARGH!
It shouldn’t be hard to imagine then that I had very little patience left come dinner time, when Lyle took one look at the unfamiliar refried beans next to his beloved quesadilla and started screaming for me to “GET – THEM – OFF – THE – PLATE!!!!”
Well, this mama said “No way” to that one. You eat what you want and don’t eat what you don’t want, but I’m not going to start scraping the “yucky” food off the damn plate! (If I’m ever not sure what to do in a meal situation, I think, “Would I be embarrassed by this at someone else’s house? A restaurant?” and go from there.)
He was in hysterics. Not the laughing kind. We had to leave the table three times before he wanted that quesadilla enough to sit down again without screaming.
In between heaving breaths, he looked at the beans and asked, “Mommy, what is that?”
Without a second thought I answered, “Candy.”
Three hands were immediately clapped over three smirking mouths.
He stared at me. “This, Mommy? This is candy?”
I could barely look at him as he tentatively tasted it.
“I yove this candy!” he declared, and went on to eat it by the spoonful and dipped his quesadilla in it.
After a while, I took a small step closer to the truth. “It’s called ‘candy beans'” I told him.
Well, come on! There are “candied yams”, right? Why not “candy beans”?