After taking her to fiddle class, I was starving. I drove to her house, unpiled everything out of the car, and attempted to open the front doors while holding an iPad, purse, car-seat, and empty snack tin. I rummaged through the fridge and took out the spaghetti her mom had mentioned and some fried rice.
That's when I heard "I don't want spaghetti."
My anxiety levels rose, assuming she wanted Rainbow Cupcakes for dinner. I was starving! I needed to eat! But I asked her, "Well, what would you like instead?"
"Cheese, pepperoni, beans, and cauliflower." What weird kid.
Now, most of that stuff resides on my "Do Not Eat" list. Cheese is the one exception because cheese is absolutely delicious. But she didn't say Rainbow Cupcakes, so I was happy to give the girl what she wanted.
I heated up my fried rice and we sat at the kitchen table, talking about how great her behavior was at fiddle class. Despite being an only child, she is great at sharing. So I wasn't surprised when she started offering me her food. I took a bit of the cheese. It was the only part of the meal I liked. Then she said, "You like cauliflower?"
"No. I never really liked cauliflower. I do like broccoli, though."
"It's really good for your body. Candy isn't good for your body. Broccoli is and cauliflower is. You could have some."
So gross that no color wanted to be associated with it. (Photo courtesy of Eat-Drink-Garden.)
The four-year-old was (and still is) less picky than me. In fact, she was encouraging me to take an adventure.
So I picked up the little bleached tree. The last time I ate cauliflower, Clinton was president. And the cauliflower was covered in cheese. It was probably more cheese than cauliflower. (My mom was getting desperate. Anything to make me eat vegetables!)
She was watching me with wide eyes, waiting for me to eat it. I reminded myself, not for the first time on this adventure, that I am an adult. I should be able to eat more than Rainbow Cupcakes! So I took a deep breath and ate the cauliflower.
Guess what. Turns out it tastes just like broccoli. All that fuss over nothing. Sorry, Mom.