What Happens When You Don’t Eat Your Wheaties (Or Meaties)

When my youngest was barely two, my son was five but very scrawny for his age. The two of them actually wore the same clothes, to give you an idea. We headed up north to visit with some of my in-laws for a week over the summer. The kids had a blast with the little backyard pool they kept for their large dogs, and they spent most days splashing around and playing with bubble wands.

One afternoon, the rest of the household had gone to the store to grab some things for dinner, and I was in the yard with the kids trying to coax them into getting out of the water and drying off. My son got out right away, and he did a great job drying himself while I wrestled his sister into a towel.

Son: “Mommy, I wanna go inside now!”

Me: “I still have to get your sister dried off. The door is unlocked, so you can go in yourself. Just stay in the dining room until I’m done.”

The rest of the house had carpeting, and he was still dripping a little.

Son: “Okay!”

He ran over to the sliding glass door and pulled on the handle. And pulled. And leaned into it. And yanked. And then, he gave it one final, all-out, grunting pull, and then stopped. His arms fell limply to his side, and he let out a huge sigh of defeat before loudly announcing to the world:

Son: “I don’t have enough meat for this!”