Noodle Boy is a nickname my son had when he was a tiny guy and I started this blog. His nickname changes all the time. (Don't worry, we keep his real name the same.) He is completely awesome. Read on and see for yourself!

Monday, March 15, 2010

Turkey sandwich-hold the turkey.

Today when I asked Jon what he wanted to eat for lunch today he told me he wanted to "Eat Fresh" which not only made me chuckle but also convinced me that he watches enitirely too much television. After making a mental note to cut out a large chunk of his t.v watching time, we headed over to Subway. The conversation on the ride over went something like this:

"Eat Fresh, Mom?" Most of his sentences come out as questions.
"Yes, Jon. Eat Fresh"
"Jon eat Subway, Mom?"
"Yes, we will eat at Subway. Mom is driving there."
"Jon eat hangaburg?" That's his word for hamburger.
"No, they don't have hamburgers at Subway. "
"Jon Eat Fresh?"
"Yes Jon. Eat fresh."
"Jon eat fresh hangaburg?"

Every sentence he spoke on the ride there had either the words "eat fresh" or "hangaburg" in it.
It sort of felt like he was trying to do that "Who's on first" thing by the time we got there, I was not sorry the ride was over. Luckily the Subway sign stunned him into silence and he whispered in awe "SUBWAY, MOM" like he had really had no idea that's where we were going to end up.

So we go in and Jon gets kid's meal with a little sandwich and some apple slices and a juice box in it and we have a seat. I was feeling pretty good about our lunch, because even though we were eating out it was a fairly healthy meal, so yay, GoodMom points for me. Then he looks at me and pretends to gag (yes, he can fake-gag at age two) and says "YUCK! Sandwich yucky!" and then starts to dismantle his sub. In an effort to avoid a scene in the middle of a super-packed Subway I pull off the offending parts of his sandwich and he ends up eating a pickle and mustard sub. Which made me want to real-gag just looking at it. I hate both pickles AND mustard.

Then he remembered that there was a fresh juice box with his name on it that hadn't been tapped yet, and we had to deal with that. Let me just tell you how much I hate juice boxes: A LOT. Who invented those hunks of crap?! First of all, I never get a pointy enough straw to get a good puncture on the first run so there's the repeated jabbing trying to get the damn thing in there. And they always leak everywhere. AND for all the trouble that they are, they never really taste that good. They're all watery. But having kids=having juice boxes in your life so this is something I'm going to have to deal with. So back to our story...Jon gets his giant toddler paws on the juice box (which I have already battled and put the straw into) and of course gives it a squeeze.
Because that's what kids do with juice boxes.
They squeeze them.
And then then a fruit punch geyser drenches everyone within 5 feet of said juice box.

You know, when you're really thirsty, and you have a 4-oz juice box, it doesn't really seem like there's a lot of fluid there. But when it's spraying all over you, your child, and the old couple in the booth next to you, it's like a freaking tidal wave. It just doesn't stop. The juice shot out of the juice box, across Jon's lap, across the front of my shirt and on to the coat of the lady sitting at the next table. (And into her purse a little. I don't think she knew that part at the time. I'm sure she does by now.)

Jon was of course devastated by the loss of juice, I was humiliated and a little damp in the armpit area, and the old people thought it was cute when Jon yelled "OH NO MOM!! JON'S JUICE!!!"
The old lady wiped off her coat, the old man bought Jon more juice and I smiled politely while silently cursing the inventor of the juice box.

Then we got the hell out of there before Jon found a way to offend the other patrons with his apple slices. He ate them in the truck on the way home.

We should probably stop going out to eat.