So Grits World has been busy lately. Last night was one of those times when there was no time to cook, no time to go out, not enough leftovers for everyone, and the kids needed the morale boost that comes from a real meal instead of cereal for dinner so that they would do their work in good cheer rather than moaning and subsequently being snapped at by me. So I ordered dinner from our favorite Italian place that delivers.
I ordered enough for two nights of family dinner plus a packed lunch, so the spread was pretty lavish. Spaghetti and meatballs were among the offerings, as well as chicken parmesan with a big tub of spaghetti. So I was surprised to see The Boy digging through the fridge for his second (if you don’t count the pizza he ate while cutting up his stromboli) course. By the time I could talk past my own huge bite of pizza, he was firing up the microwave.
What are you doing, I ask. (We had spaghetti with my sauce a few nights ago, and there was one bowl of it left in the fridge.)
“Getting some spaghetti.”
OK. I case you didn’t notice I got TWO KINDS of spaghetti, and these restaurant meatballs are the homemade kind of restaurant meatballs, not the gross frozen kind. Is there a problem?
“No. I just like your kind of spaghetti.”

I guess he can listen to NPR in the car as much as he wants now.