The scene: our kitchen - I had made some "boasted egg" (Noah-ism for poached eggs) and tomorrow is store day....
Noah: Can I have some bacon w my boasted eggs?
Me: I'm sorry, we don't have any.... But if you remind me tomorrow, we can get some at HEB.
Noah (parroting something he has heard me say many many times before) that's ok, Mom. We can just make some from scratch!
Me: (trying to put him off the subject) That would involve buying a pig....
Noah: ok! Great! Let's kill a pig, Where do we buy a pig?
I dropped said eggs on the floor. Look at what I started! Nice work, Mom.
Noah: Something something something about me holding the pig down while he lopped off a leg.... Because after all, there were only two of us and one haunch should suffice. Apparently, I signed up for The Real Housewives of Conroe, the Lord of the Flies version. *
Me: (picking my jaw up from the egg splattered tiled floor) uh...Pretty sure it would be easier just to go to the store and get bacon at this point. (I must have looked pretty shocked because this is what he said next:)
Noah: Quit your crying, Taffeta! I'm only joking. I'll just take some waffles! (Which I'm sure will entail milking a cow and finding some chickens to collect eggs from...and building a Bear Grylls-worthy waffle iron from chicken wire)
No matter how you slice it, Mighty Bacon cannot lose its magic under this roof. At least no one can ever accuse me of beating it around the bush when it come to the origin of breakfast meat. No quams in this family. At. All.
Should I be a little worried?
Nah
*Originally left this out because it sounds like I've been letting my preschooler watch Saw 4, but Tyler insisted that I add it back in. Real life won't be hampered, evidentially
