Bess - μάνα με κριτσινια

Working around kids every day, you notice things. Not just what they eat, but what they don't. There's this little girl in fourth grade. Sweet kid. Always comes in neat, hair done, dressed like somebody at home cares. But for two weeks straight, I watched her open her lunchbox, peek inside, and quietly close it again. Every single day she'd tell her friends, "I'm not hungry today." I heard her stomach growl from across the serving line. Her lunchbox was empty. Had been the whole time. I didn't say anything. I wasn't going to put her on the spot like that, kids are cruel, and the last thing she needed was to become a story somebody tells at recess. So I came up with something. I walked past her table, loud enough for everyone to hear, and went, "Oh man… I went and made way too many grilled cheese sandwiches again. If nobody helps me out, I gotta throw the whole batch away. Anybody want to do me a favor?" Her eyes lit up before she could stop them. She raised her hand slow, like she wasn't sure she was allowed to. I brought her two sandwiches. An apple. A chocolate milk. "You're seriously helping me out," I whispered as I set it down. She smiled and didn't say a word. Now every single day, she comes up to the counter to ask if I made any mistakes. I make a mistake every day. I always will.

Admit it: Your kid mispronounced a word three years ago and now the whole family says it that way. What's the word in your house? (We still say 'pasketti' and I’m not stopping anytime soon.)