My dad always made us spaghetti. And I think it was on Saturdays while my mom did her weekend nursing shift. (Except for the one time your grandpa made oatmeal and tried to bribe us into eating it by putting ice cream on top. I wouldn't go for it).
Cooked carrots? I don't think you could have got me to eat those (but look who is- you two still amaze me with what you'll eat! Zoe was taking handfuls of brocolli tonight.)
For the longest time I associated spaghetti with Saturdays and watching the Muppet Show. Must have been on that night. And I'm reminded of the Wide World of Sports intro, with the skier taking a dive off that jump (? It's been many, many years..."the agony of defeat...")
Tonight I thought "spaghetti" because it's fast and easy. And who doesn't like spaghetti?
Apparently Roman. After spilling his full sippy cup of milk Roman decided to transfer his serving of spaghetti from his plate to his high chair tray. And back. And forth. And back. Just moving it back and forth. Not eating it. Moving it. Must be fun to play with.
Zoe, on the other hand dug right in.
Roman made an attempt to keep up with his sister, but I don't think you cut the mustard little boy.
She's got two to your one!
And yes, there's probably a subconscious part of me that says "feed them spaghetti" so that I can take pictures of them eating it. :)
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