We got a notice from the school about the various end-of-year events for 8th graders. I asked M, “Do you plan to go to the 8th grade dance? It says you don’t need a date or formal clothes.”
He thought for a moment. “Will there be food?”
Silly me; I’d forgotten that the priority list for a 13-year-old boy goes something like:
4) Whether his best friends are going
5) Whether his other friends are going
I checked the notice again. “It says light refreshments will be served.”
M replied, “I’ll think about it.”
And then yesterday we were on the 40 minute drive home from my mother-in-law’s place and had some leftover pizza in the car. To be more precise, the pizza box was sitting on M’s lap. Before we even pulled out of her driveway, he was asking if he could eat some more, and I finally caved in and gave him permission halfway home, when admittedly the entire car smelled like pizza. Mind you, he’d finished eating 3 other slices about an hour earlier. I was a little skeptical about pizza as something to snack on in the car, but he did manage to eat it without getting tomato sauce everywhere.