Another Parenting Lesson Learned The Hard Way

The nasty fruits of my tiny son’s labor

Sit right down and let me tell you a tale of parental pain. But first, a disclaimer about me: I cannot stand mealtime with a picky child (the ultimate irony because I was a horrendously picky eater myself — sorry Mom and Dad!). Complaints about the food, refusal to eat, whining, and just general awfulness at the table, I have no patience for any of it.

As such, karma bestowed upon me my youngest child, the persnickety champion of dietary stubbornness, and as it now turns out, cleverness.

You see, this young man’s eternal struggle lies with with any meat other than taco, loaf, or hot dogs — and, of course, vegetables, specifically the part where he must ingest any of these items even in the smallest portion. Loving, attentive parents that we are, we prefer he receive the bare minimum of nourishment, and so much to his ire, we sometimes require him to eat healthy lean meats and a tiny spot of greenery with his dinner.

Sometimes this results in our little boy’s extended attendance in the dining hall, far after the rest of the family has taken leave to clean up, digest, and generally not spent time hatching Machiavellian plots to make a few florets of broccoli disappear. It has come to our attention now that during these periods of frustrated solitude, a dastardly lightbulb came on in son #2’s little brain.

With a flash of creativity and a quick dash of the eyes down to the floor vent, the heinous solution revealed itself.

How much rotting salmon and green beans now live in our HVAC system? How many pieces of “brown” chicken now reside in our air handler? What infestation will unfold when the aroma of decomposing zucchini lures an entire swarm of pests? No one can truly say.

But as for this child? He will never eat out of our sight again.