MY sandwich.

Lunch today, as usual, was a complete and total whirlwind.

I throw the kids their food at breakneck speeds and they devour it faster than I can dish it out. Carrots, tomatoes, leftover chicken, bread etc... And then I clean grubby little hands.

And FINALLY when all is said and done. It's my turn.

Hm. What to eat today? I open the fridge.

Nothing sounds appetizing. I spy some sourdough bread in the bread drawer and my mind starts spinning with ideas.

I get the grill out and start haphazardly throwing things in it...left over chicken, turkey and ham. Grate some cheese...and then chop some onions.

I make quite the mess.

But it's worth it, ooooohhhh, yaaaahhh.

All that's missing are those colorful twirly plastic restaurant edges on my toothpicks.

I sit down, about ready to dig my little paws into this fantastical sandwhich. Or is it spelled sandwich? Certain words always trip me up. Like vacuum. 2 c's or 2 u's? And tomorrow. 2 m's or 2 r's? I just can't seem to remember. Thank goodness for spellcheck.

I get ready to devour this delightful treat when the inevitable happens.

A certain little someone saunters by.

I see the little hand...and instinctively I am on the defense.

John and I used to joke about how territorial I was about my food...fork poised for attack at the slightest threatening gesture. (I think my brother-in-law is the same way.) When we were first married, John always ordered one large box of fries to share. I always ordered two small fries, so as not to share. Sad, sad.

Kids have changed me for sure.

How can I resist the little hands and eager face?

What you see below happens every day. Twain tenaciously claws his way onto my lap. Grunting and eeping as he goes.

As he perches happily on my lap, he tentatively reaches out his chubby little hand toward any scrap on my plate. And I am such a sucker.

Mind you me, the child has JUST eaten a full lunch and cannot possibly be hungry. What is so irresistible about my plate of food I ask??

I step away for one second, and the vultures swoop in.

Ollie looks on at the feeding frenzy with great interest. "What dat?" he asks, pointing at the toothpicks.

Apparently my fancy toothpicks were a source of great fascination. You can't blame them. My toothpicks were pretty awesome.

I cannot believe I am letting him have at it with my prized possession.

He stuffs his little cheeks like a chipmunk and chews his(MY) food with his front teeth...lips puckering out as he munches. I love it.

Twain is still on my lap and MY sandwich is quickly approaching its demolition.

Little stinker takes off with the last morsel.

But inside my heart, I smile. One day I am really, really gonna miss little people clawing up my lap to snatch my food. Having kids really does change everything.

And the fact that I devoted a whole post to my sandwich means one of the following.

a) I really need to get a life.

b) I have a fantastic life because I have such an amazing sandwich.

c) I want to remember Twain's daily begging rituals.

d) both b and c.

Please use a #2 pencil and fill in the blank completely.