Welcome to my personal hell. A nightly routine in which my son summons the fires of Hades to rage against the injustices of vegetables.
If hunger is the best sauce, tears are the worst spice. That’s what I was thinking as I sat through yet another family dinner full of sniffles. “I can’t do it. I’ll try it next year,” my four-year-old son sobbed as he stared at his meal. You would have thought I’d placed a bowl of steamed salamanders before him. Carrots. Yuck! Peas. Bleh! Cauliflower.
It wasn’t always like this. I have flashes, legume-laced fever dreams of happier days, when diapered and wholly dependent on me for sustenance, my child would eat vegetables. Or at least I think that happened. I spent one recent afternoon obsessively searching my photo archives looking for proof of my son consuming anything containing chlorophyll.
France Dernières Nouvelles, France Actualités
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