A few weeks ago I made tuna salad sandwiches for lunch and Martin LOVED it.  He ate the whole thing, asked for more, then asked that we buy more the next time we are at the grocery store.  I picked up a few more cans and we've had his new favorite sandwich a couple of times since.

This morning he climbed on top of the counter to search through the cupboards for ingredients for his breakfast recipe.  He wasn't sure what he had in mind, spending a few minutes digging through the options.  "Tuna!  I'm making TUNA!" he yelled as if he'd hit the jackpot.

I went into the other room for a moment then heard him screaming.  "MOM!!!"  I ran into the kitchen, not sure what to expect.  No thumps or crashes, so probably no injuries.  He was still on the counter, the can of tuna an inch from his eyes.  Seeing me rush into the room, he shoved the can toward me.

Martin: THIS IS MADE FROM MERMAIDS!
Me: Oh honey, it's not.  It's made from tuna.
Martin: TUNA ARE MERMAIDS! IT'S RIGHT HERE ON THE PICTURE!
Me: No, tuna is a kind of fish.  That's what's in the can.  There aren't really any mermaids.
Martin: WHAT?? NO MERMAIDS?


Here he is, posing with his old friend tuna.

So, no more tuna around here I guess.  And apparently no more stories about mermaids that live in the lake at my parents house.  It didn't occur to me that they thought the stories are real, but I guess why wouldn't they, I'm their mom and I wouldn't lie, right?

It's a good thing that I'm not my dad.  If this encounter with Martin had happened to him, they would have served up Hasenpfeffer for dinner and my dad would have told him that the Easter Bunny wouldn't make it this year.