Mr. French has a favorite line, which he has been using since we came home with our third boy. (Mr. French never, in his wildest dreams, thought he would have three boys in a row.)
He says, “Forget about college, we need to start a fund for feeding teenage boys.”
If you could see how much they can pack away now, you’d think we need one too. They think you should be able to eat your age in pancakes.
I was avoiding the dishes by checking my email and the boys were asking for dessert (see what I mean?) so I told them they had to clear the table first.
“Hey, Mom. Guess what? Felicity is becoming like a teenager.” said C.
“Really?” I asked, puzzled. I imagined her preening in front of the mirror, changing her clothes for the 5th time today. (Wait, she already does that.) “How?”
He held up a bowl that used to contain caramelized onions. “‘Cause she’s eating all the food!”
It took me a second, and then I laughed. Felicity, in just a diaper, standing on a chair stuffing caramelized onions into her mouth is exactly what a teenage boy would look like.