On Saturday, Phil made sandwiches for lunch for everyone. I got tuna. He made the usual for himself and the boys: ham, cheese, and bacon bits, with olives and dill pickle relish for himself and A--. (Yeah, I know. Gross. Weird taste runs in the family: Phil's mom used to make peanut butter and TOMATO sandwiches. Disgusting—I know because I tried it once.) Little J-- got formula in a bottle.
As we were finishing up, Phil asked T-- if he liked his sandwich. T-- nodded hesitantly. Phil said, "That's good because I put in an extra ingredient in your sandwich that you've never had in a sandwich before." I started getting worried because T-- doesn't always like new foods and can be turned off to things he used to like if he thinks they're somehow different.
T-- asks his dad what it was that was new in his sandwich, to which Phil replied, sweetly, "Oh it was love."
I paused only a moment before I started laughing, "Yeah, T--. Because Mommy never makes your sandwiches with love. Of course. Even though Mommy makes you lunch every day, I never make it with love. Nice one, Phil." He was mortified.
I should be able to get plenty of mileage out of that one.