the transfer terror

B. and I went to the Getty this morning with B. & G. and their kids. It was our first visit and we had an awesome time running around the grounds and playing in the family room. Art? Nope, didn't see any. And given the gorgeous outdoor setting, it seemed somewhat beside the point, especially with three kids. Then we all had lunch. Thank god they had mac and cheese at the cafeteria. I had these visions of B. just rejecting any and all other options while his eat-anything little friends wolfed down their chicken and zucchini. He ended up with 3 bites of pasta and then some of G.'s chicken (why does other people's food always taste better than what your mom sets in front of you?!) Then B. passed out as I drove the fifteen minute ride home and wouldn't go back down once we got home. Not with two bottles of milk or an episode of Gabba. It's crazy how much I rely on his naps to get work done (during the week), cook 'n' clean or on weekends just zone out in front of the TV. So now he's running around the house tossing anything he can get his hands on because being tired always makes his feisty. I will remind him of this when he's a famous pitcher and suggest he skip a night's sleep to improve his game.