Metaphors

I confess . . . those words seem to pop up every so often on my blog. But as part of my purpose is inject some reality into parental writing, my confessions seem appropriate. .

So here we go: I confess that my kids are picky eaters. There you have it. More about that on another day. This really is only a tiny bit related to my story, but nonetheless I feel much better having confessed.

But for today, here's the story. After a healthy but delicious dinner out with friends, I was really looking for a a few extra carbs--you know, a cookie, a cinnamon roll, or a loaf of warm homemade bread. I had to settle for a bag of pistachios.

As I stand at the counter savoring my pistachios, Henry wanders up and peers at my pistachios with one eye squinted. The look on his face reminds me of my childhood, when my mother would point out a beetle on the ground and we would all kneel on our hands and knees and scrutinize the beetle with fascination. Intense.

I say, "Mmmmmm . . . these are so good. Would you like to try one?"

Henry with a what-are-you-thinking-mom laugh says, despite having never tried pistachios, "No, no. I don't like them."

"No problem," I reply, feigning absolute joyous indifference. "More for me. Mmmmmmm."

I ignore Henry, knowing that nothing I can say will get him to try those delectable pistachios.

Slowly I notice his face closing in on them, his eyes still scrunched and focused on the pistachios.

"Look," I say, "they're green."

"Ooh yah," he observes,"like watermelons."

I guess so, crosses my mind.

"Mom, you're eating little watermelons."

If only that were true.