Distinct preferences

We got home from an appointment and then a zoo storytime with Elena, Tessa, and Janet just past noon today. Ian was already home for lunch when we rolled in, and Nora was quickly moving past hungry and into sleepy, so we had to eat fast. I was opening a new bag of bread so I could slap together some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when Fiona said warningly, "Now, I don't like the foot..."

I'll tell you a dirty little secret. I didn't have the foggiest idea what Fiona was talking about, but I was so shamefully focused on getting carrot sticks, milk, Sun Chips and sandwiches dealt around the table before a certain someone's head came drifting down into her plate that I wasn't really paying close attention to what she said. "Well then, what are you going to do about those two that are down below your ankles? You're kind of stuck with those, aren't you?" I asked drily.

But Ian was on the ball. First he laughed a hearty laugh, and then he set her straight. "Fiona, you almost have it. You are misremembering a word. You are calling the end of the bread 'foot', but it's called something close to that..." Then he started a guessing game that we all played together until she got to 'heel'.

I love my family.