A few months ago I found a spoon on the counter. It was yellow and very thick and sturdy. Not like the thin flimsy kind you get when you order take-out. So it became my favorite spoon to stir my coffee with or to eat soup with. I love this spoon and call it 'Old Yeller."
Last night, William was over and we were in the kitchen discussing his medicine. (He's got Streph throat and is taking pills and not liquid antibotics. He says he's 'growing up now.' I say, 'not so fast, dude.') Anyways, he saw me using the spoon to stir my chicken broth soup and said, "Sherrie, that's one of Ben's toy spoons. He's been looking for it."
I didn't believe him and said, "It's mine now. He can play with one of these." I reached in the silverware drawer and pulled out a white plastic spoon.
"But it doesn't match," said William. "Ben's going to be sad if you take his spoon away."
"He'll get over it. And if he doesn't. I've got kleenex."
The thing is... Ben hasn't played with his plastic food, pots, plates and spoonware since Spring. He can make due without "old Yeller."
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