So the other day my wife tells me a story of our youngest, Jackson, and of the disappearing peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The story goes like this.
It was lunchtime and our kids were eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Jennifer had walked downstairs and only saw Devon & Shelby eating their lunch. When she inquired where Jackson was they informed her that Jackson had gone upstairs with his lunch. Now food, for the most part, is not allowed upstairs at our house; especially when the contents of this particular lunch can so easily get into the carpet. Jennifer had called upstairs for Jackson and was greeted with the response, “Yes, Mommy?” Jackson comes from the around the corner of his room to the top of the stairs, his hands behind his back. The following dialogue ensues:
Mommy: “Jackson, please come downstairs and finish your lunch.”
Jackson: “Mommy, I don’t have a sandwich up here.” (His hands were behind his back hiding the sandwich.)
Mommy: “Let me see your hands.”
Jackson: (Shuffling his hands behind his back and placing the sandwich in one hand and showing his empty hand.) “See Mommy, I don’t have a sandwich.”
Mommy: (Trying to contain her laughter.) “Jackson, let me see your other hand, please.”
Jackson: (Placing both hands behind his back, places the sandwich in his other hand, and holds out his other empty hand.) “See Mommy, I don’t have a sandwich. See?”
Mommy: (Trying even harder to contain her laughter.) “Jackson, please come downstairs and finish your lunch.”
Case solved!