Lately, Stella has become a giant mirror in which we see a reflection of ourselves, our actions and our words. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes startling, mostly, however it is a wake-up call as to the example we are setting for our first-born child.
Although we love to cook, we also enjoy not to cook – more specifically, we like to eat out. Actually, more specifically than that, we like to take out. In particular, we like to take out from the mexican food restaurant 6 short blocks from our house. Partially this is because it is a.) easy, b.) good, c.) cheap, and d.) because Stella loves mexican food. In particular she worships at the altar of the enchilada – a trait she inherited from her father who held the childhood nickname of “Little Enchilada.” Stella can consume an entire enchilada, rice and beans in one sitting – usually without even stopping for a breath. We are so proud.
Beyond her love of the all-mighty enchilada plate, she now knows the procedure for how it magically arrives on her plate. In fact, tonight when we made the all-too-predictable decision to get take-out from Rita’s, Stella brought me the phone and authoritatively told me, “Here Mommy, call restaurant people and tell them enchilada.” She then promptly turned to Steve and said, “Daddy, my go to restaurant wit you?” It is, of course, at this point that Steve and I make eye contact long enough to realize we are both thinking the same thing: We have become our own worst nightmare. Again.
In searching for a silver lining I can only find consolation in the fact that nowhere in these exchanges is she requesting a Happy Meal, a Coke or a Forty.
