Of Vegetable Love

When I was younger (as with now), I was not a fan of my peas.  I am sure I was not alone in this opinion.  I would often-times find myself alone at the kitchen, peas scattered across the plate, determined not to eat the tiny green vegetables. 

After awhile, I developed an ingenious solution: tossing my peas around the room.  Dumping them all in a corner would be too obvious, but, when cleaning, if someone were to find a pea here and a pea there, it would be assumed one or two had fallen from an innocent, yet messy, child's plate.  Besides, they would be sure to blend in with the hideous green tile, so even when they were found, there would have passed enough time the connection to myself would be vague at best.

And so it went.  And, for awhile, at least, it actually worked!  But as with any deception, when enacted too often, the plan begins to unravel.  Because, after a week, as you can imagine, the peas start to build up.  And so the jig was up.

It would appear that my bold combination of ingenuity and a hatred of vegetables has been infused in my DNA and, thus, passed down to my firecracker of a daughter.  At this young age, her plans lack the foresight that will come with maturity (I'm already worried).  Tonight, after her staunch refusal to comsume her peas at Grandma & Grandpa's table, I left the room for a moment only to return to find an empty plate and Micaiah's whining, "Peas fall down my shirt!"

Sure enough, she had stuffed her vegetables down her collar and they had migrated to her diaper.  What she was forgetting was the fact that she's not supposed to announce her devious acts to the world.

Subtlety, I'm sure, will also come with time.

Pray for us.