more on that . . .

August 26, 2010

I seem to have made a promise of a story or two; and as I should be packing at the moment, it seems to be a rather perfect occasion to tell one of those stories.  So, about that kitchen dance . . .

Soon after beginning my role as nanny for said one-year-old, I learned that he was an eater of the more “discriminating” variety.  In my own family, we tend to produce more hearty eaters, so this is somewhat new territory for me, so far as creative meal preparation goes.  What I am beginning to realize about my own “mothering” skills is that when I realize I am lacking in either knowledge or ability, I have a tendency to try to make up for this lack with creativity.

So, that said as a preface, I will now risk utter self-embarrassment:

For lunch the other day, I had prepared one of our new standards—a dish that had proved successful with him and that, rushing to appease a hungry youngster on a behind-schedule day, I had resorted to as what I assumed would be a winner [more on the recipe specifics forthcoming].  A mere 2 bites later however, he began to wave his hands in front of his face and speak the gibberish that I knew meant he had decided to make a show of it.  I was not to be so easily thrown off.

Knowing better than to just stand in front of him and try to force the bite, I instead turned away with a semblance of carefree self-focus.  This move was, in itself, a bit of a risk, as he tends to require complete attention on him . . .  men!

Then I began to dance.  And to sing, spontaneously inventing lyrics and choreography to the most-riveting “Banana Dance.”  I will forego further details on this particular subject but, as some of you know, I am pretty good at making a fool of myself when it comes to performance and entertainment.

After a bit of this escapade, I glanced back at him and saw a wide-eyed look that seemed to say, “What in the world is happening in my kitchen?!?”  This was precisely the look I was waiting for; I sidled back over to him, spoon still poised in the air, and deftly slid it into his gaping mouth.  Sure enough, he was too mesmerized to protest, and he proceeded to finish off that dish with, if not gastronomical gusto, at least a dazed acquiescence J

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