The scene yesterday afternoon: Mia's in the living room watching Dora while I'm in the kitchen preparing breakfast for dinner. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, fruit salad. A fan favorite.
On the TV, Dora and Boots are discussing what they'd like to be when they grow up.
Mia runs/hops into the kitchen.
"MOM! What do you think I want to be when I'm bigger?!"
She continues without waiting for my answer.
"A really good dinner-eater! That's what I'm going to be!"
I congratulate her on her goal. I'm fairly certain the only reason she's saying this is because the smell of bacon has lured her (drugged her?) into complacency.
I don't point out that the job of a 'really good dinner-eater' takes lots of practice...practice which she loathes. Seriously. Dinnertime is a scourge around here.
But, ah, bacon. It transforms even the most avid dinner-hater into a melted puddle of sweet obedience.
That's cute. :)
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