A few days ago Nate and I were making meatballs for our afternoon cooking activity. We call them "Nanny meatballs" - it's a once-a-year event where we use the the leftover gravy from the Chanukah brisket to make meatballs. The brisket recipe is amazing, and the gravy it creates is sweet and tangy and mouth-watering and about as easy as it gets. If you want the recipe, leave a comment! Also, don't you think "meatballs" is a pretty terrible word? We're making balls of meat for dinner. Not too appetizing.
Anyway, the meatballs are delicious, and it was my Nanny's idea to make them that way. So once a year I make them, and this year Nate was helping. We were up at the counter and trying to roll them out; it was tough for Nate because ground turkey is really soft and hard to roll. So I decided to have him quit and I nuked him a meatball in the microwave to keep him busy while I finished up.
He ate it and loved it and immediately asked for more. I told him he'd have more for dinner, and slid the tray of meatballs into the oven. Nate's pretty darn observant and wondered why I cooked his meatball in the microwave instead of the oven. I told him it was because I wanted him to have one right away because I love him so much.
We went on talking and cleaning and a few minutes later he said "You made me a meatball because you love me right now?" Thinking it was a moment of parental crisis, I stopped what I was doing and looked right at him and said "Nate, I love you all the time." And he said "If you love me, you'd make me another meatball."