For dinner last night we had dinosaur bones.
We all ate around the table like cavemen. Suddenly Quentin stopped abruptly, dropped the bone he was gnawing on to his plate and looked at me with his eyes squinting. “Mom, did you have to hunt this dinosaur down last night?”
“Yes, I did,” I said with confidence. He cracked a smile. “With your bow and arrow?”
“Exactly!” I whispered. His smile grew as large as ever, he picked up his dinosaur bone and continued to finish his meal. End of conversation.
I love it. Yet I wonder, does he really think I strapped on my safari hat and hunted our dinosaur dinner the night before? And if so, how proud I am that he thinks I am capable of such providing for my family. Or… does he just know that I am full of it, and he likes it so much that he continues on?
I love my family. My boys. And our dinosaur bone dinners.