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Browsing Tag: vegetarian

Good Thing She Doesn’t Eat Hamburger

We were at the dinner table. “Mom, look at the geese!” Saoirse suddenly exclaimed.  She pointed out the window to a flock flying over our house, causing Quinn to gasp at all the excitement.  “I love the birds.” She paused, forking another heaping mound of chicken taco chili into her mouth. “Mom?” Saoirse asked.  “Do people eat birds?” I watched her, chewing happily, then looked at Quinn, who was shoving forkfuls of the chili and rice into her mouth at an alarming rate. “Um,” I said, stalling. “Do you mean birds that fly?” “Yeah!” “Um.” I swallowed. “Some people do,” I said.  “Eat birds that fly.  I don’t, though.  I don’t eat birds that fly.” “Uck.  That’s GROSS.” She took another bite of her chili, content with her analysis. “Well, you know…” I decided to continue, already feeling a little guilty that David wasn’t home from work yet to witness this conversation–or stop me from where I was leading it.  “…chicken’s…

Sign of the Times

I routinely crack up (as in laugh, not have a nervous breakdown. I save those for the special occasions, like when a tick fell onto my arm the other day while I was sitting at this desk and I acted like a SWAT team had just broken into my house) when I hear Saoirse speak. So many of the phrases she uses on a daily basis–her normal, everyday vernacular–is so, so different from anything you would’ve heard me or my brother, or anyone we knew, for that matter, say when we were growing up. What, you want some examples? Why, I’m happy to oblige: 1.  At least three times a week at lunchtime, SK asks for hummus. Hummus and pita, to be exact, “but no coo-cumber in it. No. No coo-cumber. Tomorrow. You can give me coo-cumber tomorrow. I don’t like it.” My brother and I grew up in a small town in south-central Pennsylvania, Dave and his brother, in Baltimore city. We knew nothing of this stuff called hummus. We ate bologna on white bread, with Utz potato chips, silly, just like everybody…