Mac does not like hot dogs. He is quite possibly the only American kid who just refuses to eat them.
My niece's birthday is tomorrow and the last and only hot dog that Mac has ever eaten in his life was last year at her birthday party. And that was actually just a part of a hot dog. We left the party, drove the hour and a half to get back to our rental house, Mac went to bed, and promptly woke up violently sick.
He blamed it on the hot dog and said he'd never eat another one as long as he lived.
It turned out it was that crazy norovirus that swept through the area (even the cruise ship that docked in Charleston was dubbed a "sick" ship because of all the people who kept getting sick on it). It was horrible and even though I Lysoled and Cloroxed everything in that house, I also got the norovirus two days later.
My love of hot dogs was not diminished, but Mac's certainly was.
He's not eaten another hot dog.
Until tonight!
Jimmy and I were supposed to go out for a belated anniversary dinner (Wednesdays are our "date night" and Ruth stays late a couple times a month so we can go out by ourselves). As luck would have it, Jimmy came home early today because he was sick, so date night was off. I decided to make up for that fancy steak I was planning to eat by making hot dogs with homemade chili, baked beans and french fries. A totally decadent meal and the only time I've cooked hot dogs since we moved to Bogota 7 months ago.
(And let me just tell you that the meal was perfect and completely hit the spot).
Most surprising is that Mac ate most of a hot dog and some chili. And he said the hot dog was pretty good. You could have blown me over with a feather.
For a child who finally eats hot dogs (even if they're loaded with all sorts of awfulness), I am truly thankful!
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