I don't like to lie to my kids. No, really. I don't. But sometimes it's a necessary evil. Like when it comes to food.
Nick hates tuna. Hates it like it wronged him in another life. Hates it with a passion. But he's never actually tasted it.
So, the other night, I made tuna noodle casserole.
"What are you making for dinner?" he asks.
"What kind of food?"
"The kind you can eat."
"I'm making noodle casserole."
"Oh. Why do I smell tuna?" he asks.
"Um...I don't know. I can't smell anything."
Dinner is served.
Delaney and Sam dig in.
"I hate this!" Nick complains, which is the usual dinner refrain, no matter what I cook.
"At least pick out the parts you like."
He very carefully separates the tuna from the rest of the casserole, until he has a nice little pile of it on one side of his plate.
"I'm just going to eat the chicken," he informs me. And proceeds to eat all the tuna.
I still haven't told him it was not chicken.