One for the Finn Files

Our family eats meat.

We likes us some chicken.

But, despite the fact that I was raised on a farm, I don’t care for discussing the bones of the creature that I am eating whilst chewing.

Our dinner table last night featured a roasted chicken.  (Yes, I finally remembered to put it in the crock pot.  And it was roasted with rosemary that we grew in a pot on our front steps!  I can’t believe I haven’t killed the rosemary.)

Piper Finn and London both ended up with a chicken leg.

Finn kept pulling out the bone and holding it in the air for us to marvel with her.

“Look – it’s a real bone.  It’s from a chicken.  Look at this on my plate,” the child continued to say, as if she was not aware of this feature on a chicken.

Kevin and I both grimaced, as we share the same distaste for revelling in the carcass of our meals.

We politely discussed good table manners and poor table manners with our youngest (and oft times loudest) daughter.

She seemed to understand and began to consume her chicken in a more appropriate manner.

I guess, however, she stumbled upon one more item there in her meat that she could not believe.

It must have been just too shocking to not share.

Amazed, literally awed, Finn held up an object in her hand and shouted,

“For real guys.  Look – it’s a head knuckle!”