Most evenings, The Kidling requests a snack juuuust before I leave her bedroom after tucking her in. I know her uncanny timing is not unique. As a parent, I have adapted to my competing instincts—She needs to go to bed. She needs a snack. She is exhausted. She is starving—with a fail-proof strategy. When The Kidling tells me she is hungry at bedtime, I promise to check on her in 10 minutes. If she is still hungry (a.k.a. awake) in 10 minutes, then she gets a snack… assuming I remember to actually check on her. If she has entered Dreamland, then I tiptoe back downstairs and go about my evening.
It should come as no surprise, then, that tonight as The Kidling and I snuggled, she complained of her belly’s deficit. I promised the usual, finishing with, “. . . and if you are asleep, then I will be sure to get you a big breakfast in the morning.”
“You could say a hearty breakfast,” The Kidling commented.
“That’s right,” I replied. “Like a ‘hearty meal.’ Thanks for the suggestion.”
“You could also say it for Thanksgiving.”
She is so freaking smart, I thought. Thanksgiving is a hearty meal!
“Or Valentine’s Day”
Hmm, I thought. Maybe she isn’t quite catching o– wait! (Heart)y meals. Hearty meals!
Genius. The Kidling’s a damn genius.
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