Last night, dinnertime was rapidly approaching and I knew the cupboards were practically bare. To make matters worse, Maverick was still at work and the kids had sports practice in less than an hour. I was about to throw together our go-to PB & J sandwich when I spied some pork chops in the back of the fridge (Score!). A ‘gourmet’ meal midweek in our household was nearly unheard of! As I brought the meal to the table, Sport scowled. Seriously? I had put big time effort into serving a meat product in non-nugget form only to receive opposition. Throughout the meal he pushed the food around his plate while the rest of us chowed down. As we were cleaning up, I noticed Sport hadn’t touched his food. As if channeling my dad from the grave, I said, “You will not leave this table until every piece of that meat is gone.” (I suddenly had flashbacks of a nine-year-old me falling asleep in a bowl of disgusting oatmeal at the breakfast table). I could hear Sport’s distant protests as the rest of us scurried around readying ourselves for the various activities of the night. When I looked to the table, I saw the dog glued to his every move. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck; I knew what was going on. I scolded Sport for feeding his dinner to the dog and he hung his head low. After much resistance and tension between the two of us, the remaining meat was finally eaten. As he was walking away from the table I pulled Sport into a bear hug. Thinking he was in for more nagging, he tried to wiggle away. I locked into his eyes and thanked him for following through. Not expecting that connective moment, he let his guard down and said, “Really Mom. It wasn’t that bad. The dog thought so too.” I couldn’t help but laugh.