The Husband has food issues. He hates using his hands to eat if there is any possible way to spill. Hamburgers must always been on plates. Pizza is always cut. Chili is eaten at luke warm temperature. Just to watch someone eat something messy (like those old Carl’s Jr. commercials), gives him the creeps. We were at a restaurant once where they served him still boiling soup, and he threw his chair about a yard back. It’s probably the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. And I, I love to eat with my hands; I love to get messy. While doing a sociology experiment, I had to eat a utensil dinner without utensils. I adored eating my rice bowl that way so much that I did it for years. The Husband and I both agree that this weird trait of his shouldn’t be passed to the boys as long as I also taught them to eat with utensils as needed.
Today we carved the pumpkin. And yes, I love digging my hands into the pumpkin and pulling out the innards. (Can you guess that I mix my meatball mixture by hand?) The Husband wanted to carve, but he was more than willing to let me clean the pumpkin. In my mind, I pictured the boys and I ewwing and squealing as we pulled out piles of slimy pumpkin vines.
Instead. As I pulled out the innards, the boys shied away. I couldn’t convince them to touch them at all.
Evan: Mommy! They’re the icky!
Me: (to The Husband) I wonder where they get this from.
The Husband: Your side.
Me: (short laugh) Right. No one in my family is grossed out by food.
The Husband: So all the looks come from your side and all the weird food aversions come from mine?