B has decided we eat too much processed food. (He's right.)
And I've been reading about the 100 Miles thing. It does make sense.
So last night I brought home ingredients and went through the recipe rapid-fire with B, finishing up with a hip-bump and a warbled "Spread it real good!" ala Salt and Pepper (ah, the eighties. When I was younger, cuter and seriously unaware of what a dork I look like dancing.)
He looked confused. "Aren't you going to write that down?"
I scrawled it on our blackboard, crossly, then stood by while he read it.
"And weird stuff."
I blink-blinked at him.
He turned back to the blackboard.
"So, do you get it?"
He nodded, still reading. Then down to the last line and...
His hips moved. A ghost of a wiggle.
He'll do fine.