Raising a cheese head

I have three major loves in my life: my husband, my son, and my cheese. While I love Casey and Johnny dearly, I must admit I have had a much longer love affair with curdled milk. In fact, all the girls I went to England with can surely vouch for my cheese affinity. We went to the town of Cheddar where I couldn't resist buying a tasty block of cheese. I ate hunks of that cheese all week and nearly cried when I realized the airport security guy wouldn't let me bring my cheese back to the U.S. So what did this cheese head do? I stood right there in the airport and scarfed down eight ounces of the most delicious Sharp Cheddar Cheese I've ever had. I paid dearly in the coming days for my impulsive decision, but I didn't regret eating those calories!

Now I have a little cheese head in my house. Johnny loves cheese as much as I do. Can you believe the kid will eat Roquefort Bleu Cheese? He has to have at least one piece of cheese a day. Every time I go to the refrigerator Johnny says, "Cheese, cheese!" Yesterday when we were grocery shopping I pointed to each item I was going to buy, said its name, let Johnny look at and touch it, and then put it in the cart. Each time I would say aloud to myself, "I wonder what else we need," Johnny would chant, "Cheese, cheese!" When we finally made it to the refrigerated aisle, he recognized the bags of cheese and became really excited. He pointed and shrieked, "Cheese, cheese, Mama, cheese, cheese!" The lady in front of me turned around and said, "I sure hope you are going to buy that baby some cheese." And I did--three packages of Colby Jack, Johnny's favorite.