The Peanut is a vegetarian now. There was an episode of Man/Woman Wild ( it's a husband wife wilderness survival team which at it's most difficult, is a pretty apt metaphor for marriage) on and she saw the man catch a chicken, grab it by the head, and break its neck to kill it and that was it, instant vegetarian. Which is fine.
I was raised vegetarian. had a chicken nugget when I was 12 and that was it until I was about 28. Then I decided I couldn't go through my whole life without trying bacon.
My parents were less than concientious about my diet too, so vegetarian often equaled grilled cheese and tomato, chips, and Suzy Qs. Which is not a bad way to grow up I guess. Possessed of a body sculpted by Drake's Cakes and Hostess and a mind made facile by infusions of melted cheese. Which should be in the bio on Kevin James' wikipedia page. So the Peanut decides she is going to carry on my family tradition. Teary-eyed, stiff upper-lip trembling, she informed she would no longer eat any animals. I made fried haddock that night. It's her favorite. Dirty trick by me, I know. When I asked her if she was going to eat it she replied, face scrunched, bottom lip puffed in a pout, "only if its really, really delicious." And that's how we teach prioritizing.
She lasted about one more day or so as a vegetarian before she stopped talking about it. The Pumpkin man could be tougher. He cried when I told him what happens to the lobsters at the supermarket. You know, how from an early aged they receive poor education, bad nutrition, little supervision, and have almost no chance of achieving the American Dream they are constantly assured is within their reach. Wait, no, that's poor kids. Lobsters just get boiled alive. Which is also pretty crappy. Crappy enough to make the Pumpkin Man cry, at least. Sensitive boy. Which I love love love, as long as he doesn't start listening to the Cure. This is a Robert Smith free zone.
On another subject, I know I've been a horrible' (the apostrophe makes it French. Or maybe Spanish. Or Esperanto?) blogger. My new Job at Foods That Are not Broken is kicking my ass. Trying to find that groove between working and barely keeping the house from spinning off into a vortex of chaos. Almost there. Job is ok. Providing hope in terms of paying down debt and getting a Pop up Camper. We'll be just like Travels With Charley except non-fictional. And with kids. And not probably dying. And not Steinbeck And our dog's name is Ruby. But otherwise, Just like it.