Last night, my daughters built an incredible pillow-comforter-foot stool-bed sheet fort palace in our living room, before dinner. They came to the table in character, the elder as the queen and the younger as the princess. When the princess ate her first bite of the cross rib roast (meat from my dad’s cow) prepared just like Julia Child suggests, her three year-old eyes lit up. “This is a delicious dinner Mummy!” she said. The queen agreed.
After dinner, they resumed their play. And just in case I was feeling smug about our parenting skills that have helped to nurture two imaginative little locavores, the queen turned to the princess and said “Let’s pretend we’re going to Old Macdonald’s for dinner.”
(Where, dear reader note, we’ve never been before–though the older daughter once ate there with her grandparents.)