"It's what he is," The Boy said.
"He's a destroyer and a spiller. It's what he is."
We couldn't really argue, as much as we love our little Beastie.
The Boy has been a poky little puppy at meals for the last, oh I don't know, forever. We look up, everyone else done and The Lad trying to catapult out of his highchair and The Boy has eaten exactly one nibble of his burger and three kernels of corn. So, I said no snacks after school tomorrow.
Drama. I said, either get it together or go to bed. He got it together.
He was eating; I was cleaning. He would try to talk; I ignored. The Lad started fussing, so I had to leave to deal with that. The Daddyman took my spot. Next thing I know, The Boy is coming into The Lad's room announcing, "I ate three quarters -- 1, 2, 3, 4 -- of my burger. I TOLD HER DADDY!"
Apparently, The Boy looked at the husband while I was out of sight and earshot and said, "I'm just going to throw this away. Momma will never know."