Posted March 28, 2012on:
We were visiting my sister, (a regular occurrence, as our children were born 17 days apart), and we shooed the kids out into the yard to enjoy the frosty, February sunshine.
An hour later, it was time to think about lunch and as the kids came in to use the bathroom, we asked them if they’d like ‘peanut butter ‘n jam’ sandwiches, normally a favourite.
My sister’s 3-year-old daughter shrugged and said “Sure!” as she headed back out to the jungle gym. My son however shook his head and announced he wanted a “wriggly sam-ich”.
“Excuse me?” He repeated it. We (my sister & I) looked at each other; “Huh?”
We started going through the list of sandwiches we were prepared to fix. “Tuna?”
“Just peanut butter?”
We were perplexed. “Cheese!?”
“No.””What kind do you want?”
“A wriggly sam-ich!” (By now he was in tears; and we weren’t far behind. He wasn’t being cantankerous. He was really trying to tell us the kind he wanted, and couldn’t figure out why we didn’t understand.)
We were really concerned. A mutual friend’s toddler had eaten worms earlier. (Worms = Wriggly?)
“A wriggly sam-ich!?!” I thought and thought. I got him to repeat it two more times.
“Honey? Do you want a REALLY GOOD sandwich?”
“Yee-sss!” He cried, relief VERY evident (his AND ours!), as we hugged him, wiped his tears, and promised him that Auntie would make him the “very best ‘wriggly’ sam-ich ever!”
We could barely stand from laughing after he went back outside…
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