I kept all the boys last night while Wife had a much-needed break. She had a pedicure, and a meal without interruption. The boys and I did alright. Isaiah ate his sweet potato mush without fuss, and then crawled from Daddy to brother to brother, begging tiny spoonfuls of chocolate pudding.
I explained to the boys that old-school Brits call desserts “puddings,” which they thought was odd but endearing. Then I told them that french fries are “chips.” That seemed just downright odd to them, especially since “fries” doesn’t mean potato chips. Caleb asked me where the french fry was invented. “Germany,” I told him. He’ll realize that’s funny in a couple more years. In the interim, however, he’s likely to misinform all his friends.