We had tuna and veggie kebabs and rice for dinner (all hail, Whole Paycheck’s fish!). I am tempted to use Herr-Meow-speak to refer to certain things– like rice is really “ricey-rice” and tuna is really “chicky” or “piggy-chicky”.
I suppose that as long as he actually eats what’s in front of him, does it really matter what we call it? Does integrity in names really matter at age two-and-a-half?
I suppose I should also point out that I’m watching some Colombian soap opera on Telemundo. I know, it’s yet another eye-roller, except that suddenly I have the saddest, most blatantly pathetic craving for yucca. I don’t care what form it takes– I want yucca fries or maybe some thick stew with lots of yucca floating in it.
I want it so much right now that I am tempted to piss off my little helpful Typepad red-squiggle spellchecker and write out “yuca”, skipping that extra c that makes it seem weird and foreign and not just like, you know, yuca.
I’m off to watching some more cheeztasticness and dreaming of sancocho. See you guys tomorrow.