“Are you still hungry?” I asked Ari after lunch.
He nodded. Naturally, I began suggesting other options for things he could eat: cheese, raspberries, blueberries, peaches… you get the idea. But he just kept saying “pnt-zins.” I had no idea what kind of fruit would be called “pnt-zins.”
Thankfully, Ari stayed patient. He didn’t cry; he kept repeating “pnt-zins.”
“Do you want pretzels?” I asked. (That couldn’t be what he wanted.)
“Yes!” he said, his face lighting up.
“But you’ve never had pretzels. Or have you?” I looked at Ari. Ari grinned back at me.
I walked across the kitchen and grabbed a bag of pretzels from the pantry.
“Pnt-zins!” Ari yelped.
“Who let you try pretzels?” I asked him.
“Ih-ba-belle! Daddy!” He implicated his sister and father.
“Oh really? Isabelle and Daddy let you have pretzels?” I said. Must’ve been when I was out of town…
“Yes!” Ari declared.
“Oh boy,” I said, making a mental note to have a conversation with my husband and daughter tonight.
Ari took a bite. “Good!” He smiled. “Yummy!”
“Of course they’re yummy, they’re salty,” I replied.
Ari kept biting and chewing. “Yummy!” he declared again and again, until he finally said, “Muh pnt-zins puh-lease.”
How do you deny a polite (and somewhat-reasonable) request?
You don’t. At least, I didn’t. So I handed over two more pretzels.
I’m still planning to talk to Marc and Isabelle tonight. Because I kinda want to know what else Ari has tried that I don’t know about.