Competitive Eating

Once a month the boys' school has a pizza fundraiser. This means the kids get to eat pizza for lunch and I get to pay extra for it. The money goes towards the schools' animal fund, which thanks to some rabid dogs who killed all of the schools' chickens and rabbits, is in need of big bucks.

At first the monkeys were content to have two slices each. Jiro opting for two cheese and Satchel opting for two pepperoni. Or maybe it was the other way around. Regardless, this totaled $7.00, which seemed reasonable. (Cheese is $1.50, pepperoni & sausage are $2.00 each.)

As the months have passed, the monkeys' appetite for pizza has grown. For the last "Pizza Day," Satchel requested four slices of sausage and Jiro requested two cheese and one pepperoni. As I wrote out the $13 check, I started to feel like a sucker.

"Are you guys really eating all of this pizza?" I asked.

They both nodded vigorously.

I asked around and found out that all of the kids had been upping their orders. Was it an attempt to help the school buy lots and lots of new animals? Were the kids gaining a sense of pride in raising funds?

No and no.

Was it some weird way to see who's parents had the most money? (Or who's parents were the biggest suckers?)

Maybe. (And if it is the latter, clearly I am the winner!)

It seems like it just might be a case of "Look how much pizza I can eat."

Last Friday after eating his four slices of sausage, Satchel had a stomach ache and asked his teacher to call his parents. Warren picked him up early, and from all accounts, he seemed fine, but Warren parked him in the bathroom for awhile just for good measure.

The funniest part of this tale occurred when I picked Jiro up at the usual time. When I found him, he said nonchalantly, "I don't know where Satchel is."

I explained that he had a tummy ache and that Daddy had picked him up early. Jiro looked at me as though I was the meanest person on the planet. "I wanted to go home early too!"

While I tried to figure out how to pin this on Warren, he followed up with, "Why does Satchel get to have all of the fun?"

I promised Jiro that Satchel had not had any fun and that I told Warren to see if he wanted to go home too, but it didn't matter. I was mean.

Monday morning, in the midst of my daily struggle to get the kids in their heavy coats, Jiro looked at me and asked sweetly, "If my tummy hurts can I call you to pick me up?"

My heart melted a little, and I was actually happy to say, "Well, no, but they're predicting bad weather so I'm sure school will close early."

He let out a little cheer as he ran to the car and I wondered if the schools would even be open at all.