In a stroke of brilliance!

I’m not a picky eater…I don’t think. There are a few items I refuse to eat. I won’t eat these things, not b/c I don’t like how they taste but more b/c I don’t like their texture (yes…we can discuss my weird texture issues later). For years, I have been flinging unwanted raw onions or celery onto my husband’s plate. After 13 years, he has become quite adept at thwarting my attempts.

He’s fast to move his plate, and I chuck the offending vegetable on the table. He’s also taken to blocking the toss with his fork – deflecting my attempt, and usually winding the item onto some unsuspecting person’s plate. [This makes for extreme awkwardness when I don’t know the person in question]…”Yeah, I don’t like celery, I was giving it to him (pointing) and he thought you really wanted it instead.”

It really never dawned on me to make my kids eat them. Since I don’t cook with either, my older two are a lost cause, already having rooted their heels into stubborn eating habits – AKA: if it isn’t a nugget of some sort shaped like a dinosaur, they’re not trying it. That is…until the other evening.

A fund raiser for a local school saw the outdoor production of BBQ Chicken from a well known establishment, with two sides. My husband picked up this dinner…aww, how nice. He got all four of the sides, two for me, two for him. I made my selection. DAMNIALL! My macaroni salad has BOTH onions and celery in it (I should also insert here that husband doesn’t care for them either…). I begin the arduous task of picking them out.

“I’m not sure why everyone has to put this crap in their salads. It’s a complete texture confliction issue. The soft noodles, mayonnaise and eggs should not be mixed with the crunchy raw vegetable. It’s just wrong.” The two-year-old wanders up (having already eaten her dinner while I was at class). “Try some, Mommy?” OK. I scoop some noodles. She eats them. “Try some more?” The light bulb, due to being the tree hugger kind is sloooow to illuminate over my head…wonder if she’ll eat the onion. Hey - she will eat anything as long as it’s on someone else’s plate, so why not?

The fork scoops, the fork goes in mouth, she chews. I look at her screwed up face, “Whoa! Crunchy! YUMMMM!” She mimics, “YUM!” I offer an additional sample. More brazenly this time…I scoop only one pasta and one celery AND one onion. “YUM, CRUNCHY!” “YUM!” Her face might be stating otherwise. She chews. She comes back. Shamelessly, I scoop nothing but onions & celery. [HEY! Don’t judge, the kid already ate…I haven’t.] “Ooooh, crunchy!” “YUM?” Her beautiful cherubic face scrunches up in pure scrutiny.

At this point, my husband, whom has been the recipient of all of my “yucks” for the last 13 years jumps out of his chair and whoops out of sheer joy. “SHE ATE IT! SHE ATE IT!” Pointing at me, “Now, throw this crap on her plate and not mine!”

Never before have I seen another adult so quick to sell their kid out. Sensing something momentous has just occurred, my baby – the light of my life – claps, asks for more and is rewarded with a fork full of Mommy’s yucks, and I take a moment to revel in my stroke of brilliance six years in the making.