I hate serving my children rice for lunch or dinner.
I mean, seriously, let's serve them hundreds of tiny pieces of food. Like they need help spreading their meal from here to next Thursday?
Whenever I clean up after a rice meal - which, by the way, does not sweep - I think about how in Mulan the Emperor says: "A single grain of rice can tip the scale" or something stupid like that... and then I think "A single grain of rice.... "
But I don't get much beyond that, because I am not dealing with "single grains" of rice.
I am dealing with smooshed rice on their chairs, on their pants, on the table, on the floor, in the living room, on the stairs, and - in GQ's case, and sometimes M's - in their hair.
And this rice is not single. It is infinite. I will be finding it tomorrow, and the next day, until I swear never to serve rice again.
But I always do.
Because the problem is, I like rice.
Humph.