One of my grandson’s favorite foods is waffles. He used to like them frozen out of a box – that started when he was teething and frozen waffles seemed to soothe his gums. He’s graduated to the real deal now. He’s a very picky eater, believing not in the pyramid of food groups but in a tiny mound of individual food items. Waffles for breakfast. Only.
He’s five, in kindergarten, and learning to read amazingly well. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise that as he was riding home with his mom and dad last week he realized that nirvana was only a few blocks away from home. A big shout from the back seat: “Mama, there’s a place called Waffle House!”
Of course they stopped and ate.
