Little J and I watched Billy Elliot the other day.

We sat down for dinner afterwards. Husband made a fancy frittata type dish that looked like something out of a magazine. Little J started with his usual scanning of the plate and eliminating what he doesn’t like, leaving him with ham only. When he pushed my last button half way into dinner, I send him upstairs. Hungry. Not because we did not have enough, but because we have too much.

We were brushing teeth before bed when he asked why he could not eat something other then eggs.

Me: Because that is what Daddy made tonight.

Little J: But I did not like it.

Me: Well I really don’t like eggs either. But I ate it all.

Little J: Why?

Me: Because I am grateful Daddy works hard and provides for us. I am grateful he cooks for us. And because I would rather eat then be hungry. You know, once I tried it, I kind of liked it.

Little J: Did you like eggs when you were little Mommy?

Me: Probably not.

Little J: Did your dad cook them anyway?

Me: No, I never had a dad.

Little J: Did your mom cook eggs?

Me: No son, my mom died when I was young.

Little J: Like Billy Elliot’s mom?

Me: Yes.

Little J: I am sorry. I don’t want you to die, ever.

We both cried for what seemed forever.
Then he went downstairs and asked Daddy if he will make eggs for him tomorrow.