Last weekend was such a gorgeous step into Fall - even with the rain. I am finishing up the canning, making Cortland apples into sauce and the house smells all crisp with tendrils of cloves and cinnamon curling into the cool breeze that politely eases through the kitchen window, ruffling the curtains only slightly.
My little peanut wanders into this cornucopia of autumn, searching for red grapes. More grapes, actually, since this would be her second helping.
"Wow," she chirps. "I'm starving."
I am one of those moms. The mom who won't let her kids say "I'm starving." It's just a thing with me and the Nut has always accepted it without question. Until today. So when she says "I'm starving," I respond with the usual:
"Oh, honey, we say 'I'm very hungry,' and not 'I'm starving.'"
"Because they're really children who are starving."
"No, honey, children who don't have enough food to eat, so they are dying from not having enough food."
"No, NO, you are NOT DYING. We have plenty of food to eat. You are just very hungry."
"I'm really not dying?"
"Whew! 'Cause that would be unnecessary!"
I dropped to my knees and gathered her up in a big hug, telling her "I love you, my little peanut," shaking with giggles.
I then buried my head back in the sauce pot and wondered if all seven-year-olds were like this or is it just mine?