Elan seems to love the order of reciting lists. He started with the alphabet, then went on to numbers, which he’s still completely obsessed with, and now he’s added days of the week, which he’s learning in nursery school during circle time.

Early Monday morning, just after he finished his ritual good-morning bottle snuggled in our bed, he turned to me and greeted me with a new affirmation. “Today is Tuesday.”
“It’s not Tuesday,” I said. “Today is Monday.”
“Today is Monday,” he repeated, as he reached a hand out to touch my cheek. And then, very seriously, shaking his head: “We don’t eat Monday.”
This has continued all week. At least once a day, he offers up his version of what day of the week it is, waits for me to correct him, and then states solemnly: “We don’t eat Thursday.” Or “Wednesday.” Or whatever day it happens to be. It cracks me up every time. All I can manage in response is mute agreement.
But it has started me thinking. If they were edible, what would a day taste like?
So here’s my list. And yes, I do like all these foods.
Monday: lentils with fried onions. Strong and sturdy.
Tuesday: banana. Just plain banana.
Wednesday: meatballs and spaghetti. Fill-me-up comfort.
Thursday: Thai-style sauteed eggplant. Roasty exotica.
Friday: crisp little lemony cookies. Fresh, hopeful.
Saturday: flourless chocolate cake, with chocolate ganache, strawberries and fresh whipped cream. Pure decadence.
Sunday: homemade chicken noodle soup, with matzoh balls for good measure. A deep breath for the week ahead.
Try it. It’s fun. And it just might help you answer that interminable question What’s for dinner?