one reason i need to meet brooklyn's mom...

"I am dying,"  Conner says, his body leaning over his chair towards the wood flooring.


"No, Conner, you are not dying."  I say.  Dinner-time-theatrics is not my favorite time of the day.


"Yes, I am.  I tried a bite of the turkey in the spaghetti pie and now I am going to die."  His moans and complaints continue.  Apparently, microscopic bites of meat equate to the death sentence.


I am beginning to believe that my two-year-vegan-experiment has severely damaged my kids for life.  The three of them would gladly exchange any source of meat for a large bowl of raw spinach. Sure, we love our veggies... but I wish the boys would learn to appreciate the alternative protein sources to our traditional nuts and beans.


"Well, then I guess Caleb is going to inherit a lot of Lego's." I don't even try to hide my frustration at dinner time any more.  A simple thank you would suffice.  My ears mute out the complaints as I picture myself eating spaghetti pie on the beach with waiters fulfilling my every request and need.  Life is good.  I am on the beach for a short time when Nate's voice interrupts the complaints and I am rocketed back to reality.


"Well, Conner, I heard that Brooklyn (Conner's I-want-to-marry-her-crush-of-the-month) LOVES meatballs."  Nate says.  I married a genius.


"She does?"  Conner asks.


"Yep, she eats every meatball her mom gives her without complaint.  What a nice girl she is.  You sure know how to pick them." 


Conner begins digging at his meatballs.  Hesitantly, he takes one big bite.


"Wow!  These meatballs don't taste that bad.  I am beginning to like them!"  Conner says.  He quickly gobbles up his meal in two-minutes and our regular two-hour-dinner-ordeal spontaneously ends.


Life is amazing... well, it was until the next day when Conner stormed in the door from school.


"MOM!"  Conner yells, "I asked Brooklyn today during lunch if she liked meatballs.  And she said that she HATES meatballs.  I am never ever eating a meatball again."  He folds his arms and collapses on the couch, with steams of anger radiating from the top of his head.


"Well, darn it, I guess Dad and I misunderstood.  Sorry about that."  I say while quickly excusing myself to clean the bathrooms.


And this, my friends, is why it is imperative that I meet Brooklyn's mom.  I need to know Brooklyn's interests and (most importantly) what kind of food she likes to eat.  I plan to maximize Conner's I-love-girls-mentality to it's full potential.