Though still in high school, I already had strong opinions on the art of raising perfect kids. For example, a youngster whose parents introduced vegetables at an early age would live happily ever after with a sprig of spinach between his teeth.
And so, years later, when I had a child of my own, I ladled in the goods. Green beans and strained peas were menu staples, each pureed spoonful introduced by great smackings of the lips and snatches of a tuneless song called "Yummy, Yummy, Yum in the Tummy, Tum, Tum."
Richard Simmons had nothing on me when it came to enthusiasm for healthy food.
Sure enough, that first little girl, Jennifer, complacently accepted such offerings, right up to the moment when she learned to say no.
How clearly I remember that day! In a cozy, little restaurant well-known for its tranquil setting, my cherubic daughter looked up from a plate of mashed asparagus with a smug pursing of her Cupid's bow mouth and shrieked, "No, no, no!"
After that she went into hysterics every time I approached her with anything green. On St Patrick's Day, I had to wear the color in component shades of yellow and blue.
And the next time my husband and I were invited to my parents' house for dinner, I arranged to have the highchair strategically placed directly over the furnace vent. Then, when Mom wasn't looking, I poked all my daughter's peas down the louvered grate.
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| No, I do not eat veggies! |
