On Monday night, we got dinner from Subway because I was lazy and it’s the other place Eva can eat besides that place where they know my glasses.
One bite into her sandwich and she excused herself and announced she was done. So, we told her there would be no snacking and we wrapped it up and (to her credit) she didn’t ask for another bite to eat that night.
This morning, when she got up for breakfast I put the sandwich on a plate and gave it to her. “You asked for it, so eat it.” “Can I have waffles?” “You can have a waffle when you eat your sandwich.”
I leave the room to make Calvin a bottle. Two minutes later, Eva walks into the kitchen holding an empty plate and tells me she ate her sandwich.
Forty minutes. Forty minutes of looking everywhere for that sub. Forty minutes of Bambi eyes blinking at me like she feels sorry for me that I’m so crazy because how many times does she have to tell me that she ate that sandwich up. She pats my back. Maybe I’d feel better if I made her a waffle.
I call Kyle but can’t find him. I open the front door just in case she suddenly mastered that trick and tossed it outside. I walk around the house and honestly start to question whether or not she might have eaten it. Maybe she did. Maybe I didn’t even give her a sandwich. Maybe the sandwich was all in my mind.
It wasn’t. It was on Kyle’s side of the bed under a pillow and two blankets. And when I found it, she laughed with delight and said, “That’s not where sandwiches go! Silly little sandwich!”
One of us is winning and I don’t think it’s me.