Herald Journal Columns
May 6, 2002
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Menu? Our special is knuckle sandwich


Another little boy visited our house to play with my son last week, and I think our daughter almost had a hemorhage over those two little urchins.

They had her going in circles. No sense in fighting TWO 6-year-olds.

They copied her endlessly, hid her toys, and teased her for two hours. She chased them, which they just loved to pieces, and also made her super mad (bonus points).

Finally, she asked them "Do you want to see the menu? The special today is a KNUCKLE SANDWICH."

Isn't that hilarious!

Along those same lines about little boys, here is a recipe for mothers in honor of Mother's Day.

It is inspired by my son during a recent cooking expedition.

Baking with Bryce (how to)

1. Check oven for toys, plastic stuff inserted by children, etc.

2. Preheat oven.

3. Clear off toys, Play Dough, Barbie dolls, etc., off table.

4. Grease pan.

5. Make Bryce wash his hands.

6. Make him wash again with soap this time.

7. Measure out the sugar and peanut butter for cookies.

8. Mix ingredients.

9. Answer phone.

10. Mix up extra ingredients to replace what is missing. Make Bryce wash his hands again. Change his shirt.

11. Answer the doorbell.

12. Sweep the spilled pile of sugar off of floor.

13. Mix up (more) ingredients.

14. Wash spilled salt out of the pan.

15. Get what is left over of ingredients into the pan. This will yield about five cookies.

16. Wash the kitchen floor, table, walls, and dishes.

17. Call bakery to order cookies.

18. Take two aspirin. Lie down.

Speaking of little boys, here is a poem.

The Good Little Boy

Once there was a boy who never

Tore his clothes, or hardly ever;

Never made his sister mad,

Never whipped fer bein' bad,

Never scolded by his Ma,

Never frowned at by his Pa,

Always fit fer folks to see,

Always good as good could be.

This good little boy from heaven,

So I'm told, was only seven,

Yet he never shed real tears

When his mother scrubbed his ears,

An' at times when he was dressed

Fer a party, in his best,

He was careful of his shirt

Not to get it smeared with dirt.

Used to study late at night,

Learnin' how to read an' write;

When he played a baseball game,

Right away he always came

When his mother called him in.

An' he never made a din

But was quiet as a mouse

When they'd comp'ny in the house.

Liked to wash his hands an' face,

Liked to work around the place;

Never, when he'd tired of play,

Left his wagon in the way,

Or his bats an' ball around-

Put 'em where they could be found;

An' that good boy married Ma,

An' to-day he is my Pa.

­ Edgar A. Guest

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