Are Your Kids Really Eating?

Deception. It starts early.
Last night I barbecued some chicken thighs, cooked a sweet potato and steamed broccoli. That was the dinner I served to Big Boy, Little Boy and myself (MrDartt was not home).
The hot spot on the barbecue cooked one chicken thigh very quickly, so I lovingly and painstakingly cut up Little-Boy-bite-sized pieces and put three neat piles (the chicken, the sweet potato and the broccoli) on his tray.
The barbecue ran out of propane before the other thighs were done so I put them in the oven on broil. To do so, I had to get out a cookie sheet, cover it with foil, and then put a rack on top of those. Then I transferred the chicken from the barbecue.
During that time I noticed that Little Boy had finished almost all of his food. Even the broccoli, which he usually doesn't love.
So I put three more small piles on his tray.
I glanced over a few minutes later and he was using his left hand to casually drop a piece of chicken over his left shoulder -- a careless observer might think he was just feeling his left ear.
I took this as a signal that he was done so I picked him up. There were dozens of Little-Boy-bite-sized pieces (yes, the very same ones I'd cut up so lovingly and painstakingly) smashed between his back and the high chair seat!
When I went to change him into pajamas a little while later, I discovered dozens more pieces inside the back of his onesie.
I guess he didn't eat as well as I'd thought.
Little stinker.