Brettism Hump Day! Who wants seconds?

Most days, I have a helper make dinner with me. It gives me someone to talk to while I cook. It's a great math exercise for them, as we usually double most recipes. They learn some basic cooking skills. And, if I had a recipe that called for frozen peas and carrots, but only had a bag of mixed veggies; it would also give me an extra set of hands to separate them. Not that I've ever asked one of them to do that.

It usually always starts with the question "What's for dinner?" followed by "Can I help you?" Most days I don't mind the 'assistance', some days I actually enjoy it. And then there are days like yesterday.

Out of all the kids, Brett is the most picky and therefore the most concerned when it comes to dinner. He constantly wants to know ahead of time what is on the menu, as if the advanced notice will give him the time necessary to prepare mentally for the bowl of chili. *shudder*

Because sarcasm is probably our only real family tradition, I usually handle this with a glib remark and we banter until I relent and tell him what we're having.

Lately though, my nerves have been shot. Frayed by a combination of dealing with a schizophrenic toddler, a sick baby, and a winter that DOES NOT WANT TO GO AWAY. (Seriously? I get these kids raised and out of the house? I'm planning a vacation someplace very warm every March.)

So, when Brett ventured up from the playroom to ask the question that I knew he would, I wasn't in the best of moods.

"Hey mom. What's for dinner?"

"A big giant plate of get-back-downstairs-until-I-call-you-to-eat."

Leaving the room, grumpy. "Man, we just had that yesterday."