beans on toast

This afternoon was one my meticulously timed masterpieces of parental carpooling. Olivia had dance class from 4 - 6. I had to pick Griffin up from rehearsal (his school is doing "Hairspray", and he's Corny Collins - can't wait) at 6, and I had to have Connor at the high school at 6:15 for his final band concert of the year. Throw in a necessary conversation with Griffin's director and the need to pick Larry up at the house (remember, he's doing public transport and bike) before going to Connor's concert - oh, plus a huge rainstorm, which we never get in Phoenix, and therefore resulted in the inevitable wreck with closed off roads right in the middle of our route (not making this up) - and it was a nutty, crazy, insane hour in the car.

(For the record - picked everyone up on time, and made it everywhere we needed to be on time. I'm good.)

Anyway, since no one was home at the time except me and Connor, and he wasn't hungry, and we were going to have such an insane evening, I made the executive decision to prepare dinner for the family after Connor's band concert. It would be late, but surely all would survive.

So we listened to the Gilbert Junior High School 7th grade band play The Lion King, and of course I cried. Then the 8th grade band played Star Wars, and I'm sure Larry teared up. After snapping a few pictures in the foyer, we headed to the car to go home.

And the natives were restless. Very, very restless.

"Mom! I'm soooo hungry!...What's for dinner?...Can we stop at Freddy's?...I want to go out to dinner!...OHMIGOD I can't wait, I am so hungry!!...I'm going to DIE!"

I tried to throw out an answer or two - one of which was no, we aren't going out to dinner, that costs money and I just spent a small fortune to buy tickets to your sister's dance recital after spending enough on lessons and costumes to pay off my car - but they were having none of it. It was an official hyperactive bitch-fest.

"Okay," I say in my loud and authoritative mother tone, the one I pull out for emergencies, "that's it. We're having beans on toast for dinner. Now shut. up."

I was kidding, actually. I had some some pre-cooked carnitas in the fridge that I could nuke in five minutes. Chop some onions and cilantro, warm up a can of refried beans, and you have a Mexican feast on your hands in a flash.

But they didn't know that. So - moans. Groans. Complaints. More pleas to go out for dinner.

"What is beans on toast, mom?"
"What do you think it is? Beans and toast."
"You're not really going to feed us that." "No way." "I hate beans." "Yuk."

Guess what we had for dinner?

Looks like we'll be having our carnitas feast tomorrow night. And they got the full-on lecture, including the part about the starving kids in Africa.

And you know what? They got the message, loud and clear. And ate every last bite. Turns out they don't hate beans so much after all, especially when they are starving. And Larry and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

The meal, that is, not torchering our children. Although we were feeling pretty smug.