Sitting at lunch with my three sons, they bantered away. Giggling and carrying on. Meanwhile, I focused on the task at hand. I ate.

Finishing my lunch, I looked up to see 6-year-old Ben holding court and sitting back in his chair. During the time it took me to clean my plate, it appeared as if Ben had eaten a single garbanzo bean from his pasta salad. This was going to take a while, perhaps until dinnertime.

I glanced to my left and saw 11-year-old Jacob making progress, but in no way was he quickly finishing lunch. Jacob’s plate was still piled high with food, a healthy amount for a growing boy that looked in no hurry to finish.

Trying to busy myself, I took my empty plates to the kitchen. Upon my return, which I swear was about 45 seconds later, I once again glanced at Jacob and his (gasp!) half eaten plate of food. In that short amount of time, it looked as if 11-year-old Jacob had inhaled most of his lunch. No dog to be found under the table. No little brothers ratting him out. Just young Ben contemplating if he should eat a second garbanzo bean and Jacob continuing to attack his food.

Extremes in eating? Yes, but somehow everything appears to be right on track.

[Author’s Footnote: 8-year-old Sam, while not fully embracing the pasta salad, did manage to eat most of his meal at a slow and steady pace. Way to go, Sam!

Author’s Footnote, too: “I did not woof down my food,” says highly defensive Dave. I simply focused on my diet sized portions and consumed them with a starving man’s enthusiasm.]