Po-TAY-to, Po-TAH-to

Last night, I received a text from my brother, asking if my family had dinner plans. So I called my husband.

"What are we doing for supper?"

My brother and I grew up in Colorado where we ate DINNER every night. My husband, a Southerner (he claims Texas, but that wasn't until later in his life...), swears that dinner comes at the noon hour, while supper is the evening meal.

For a long time, I mentally shifted gears and called the evening meal supper, just to be able to relate a little easier to my husband. Of course, we lived in that part of the world for a while, so I had no need to discuss dinner plans with my brother. Now we're back in Colorado, living about a mile or two from him, so I'm all over the place - dinner? supper? supper? dinner?

I guess as long as my kids are fed and their little tummies are full before they go to bed, it doesn't matter what we call it. I'm grateful my family is in a place where hunger isn't really an issue. May we always be mindful of those who suffer so, though.