I need to tell you about Friday.

My wife was away to visit family. Ten days, just me and the kids. I want to be clear that I can handle ten days - I’ve handled the kids alone before - but Friday specifically was A Day. It started with biking both kids to school in the cold, which is our normal commute here in the Netherlands and usually I like it, but Friday I had already been up too early and the wind was directly against us the whole way. Then there was a playdate for my son after school that I had agreed to without fully checking the map first. It was considerably farther than I expected. My daughter is nine and completely capable of being home alone for a stretch - this is, genuinely, a normal thing here, we have good neighbors on all sides who she knows - but I still spent the forty-minute bike ride back with my son doing the mental math of exactly how long she’d been alone and whether that was fine (it was), and exactly how much candy and Bifi’s will she have eaten (turns out, none). She spent the whole time watching crafting videos on YouTube Kids, reveling in being home alone and responsible.

By the time I had my son home it was past dinner time, and I had not event thought about what I was going to make. I grabbed some things in the fridge and threw together the blandest, quickest meal I could - roasted chicken breast, roasted broccoli, green beans, carrots, and a couple potatoes . I made all of it. Just threw it in the oven with salt & pepper, a spray of olive oil. I put it on the table. I knew what was coming, but I was too tired to care.

My son looked at the broccoli. You know the look. We’ve established the look over many posts now.

Here’s the thing about that Friday. The night before, we watched Bluey (we watched Bluey most of the week to be honest) - the episode called “Musical Statues,” where the kids play the game and freeze when the music stops. Both kids had loved it. They had asked to play it after the episode. We’d played it in the living room for twenty minutes before bed.

I don’t know exactly why the connection formed the way it did. I was standing at the stove, I was tired, I was looking at a table where neither of my children seemed inclined to touch a vegetable, and something just clicked. I picked up my phone, opened the music app, and told the kids we were playing a game. When the music plays, you can’t eat, you can only get a bite ready on your fork. When the music stops, you have to take that bite as quick as you can. Winner is whoever gets the whole bite first. Everybody chews, music starts again, and repeat.

My daughter looked at me like she was re-evaluating whether I could be trusted. My son immediately put a piece of chicken in his hand (no, not his fork), ready to go.

I hit play. My daughter reluctantly got a bite on her fork, making a big deal about a vegetable falling off over and over. Eventually, they were both ready. I hit pause. They both took a bite as quickly as they could, so quickly that my sons fork full of chicken turned into a miniature catapult, flinging the food over his head and onto the wall. His sister and I laughed.

Dear reader, that was the wrong thing to do.

His eyes filled up, his lip started to quiver, and the warbling “but I…” followed by whining language that I cannot understand, all told me I had half a second to fix this. I quickly blurted out “do-overs on any missed bite,” and the lip stopped shaking. He got another bite ready while the music played some more. I hit stop again, this time they both got the bite to their mouths, but her’s was definitely first. So much so, that he knew it too. He complained “But M is faster than me, I won’t ever win” so I said “everybody who plays is a winner” - and that was good enough. I couldn’t believe it. We played another round. And another. And another. Then he wanted to pick the music, which I nudged his sister a few times and she agreed. Halfway through his song, their plates were clean.

The game had reframed the whole thing - it wasn’t about whether she wanted broccoli, it was about whether she could get the bite in before the pause.

Two kids who were thirty seconds away from a dinner negotiation, two clean plates. They asked for more so they could keep playing. My son - my son, who has eaten approximately six vegetables in the past year - ate roasted broccoli and green beans and asked if we could play again tomorrow.

I sat there after they went to bed, still a little stunned. Then I took a picture of their plates and sent it to my wife on the other side of the world. For evidence.

I have no idea if it will work again. But I’m going to find out.