Encouragement from a Four-Year-Old

I had a babysitting double header Saturday.  I've already mentioned that the four-year-old I babysit (who told me that night that I can call her "Keeks") has a much more mature palette than I do.  She encouraged me to eat cauliflower after all.

For my morning shift, we ate sausages and toast with Nutella and almond butter.  Nothing too fancy or adventurous.  Also, it was delicious.

When I came back for my night shift, her parents had made fish empanadas.  Keeks was eating a hot dog.  Her mother graciously offered me the empanadas (and a slice of delicious pie).  I diplomatically said, "Cool," but I didn't commit to eating the fish.

After her parents left and I was trying to get her to stop running long enough to eat some hot dog, Keeks said, "I don't like fish."

"I don't like fish, either," I said.

"And that's okay, Kayla!"

I smiled at her enthusiastic acceptance of different tastes.  "You're right."  But would a real grown-up just stop right there?  Fish and chips are alright.  What if empanadas are alright?  "But I'm going to try the empanadas."

There.  Few people hold you accountable for your words like four-year-olds.  Now I had to try them.

I put one on my plate, reminding myself that if I tried this I would have totally earned that delicious pie.  Then I sat next to Keeks.

All that unknown grossness hidden in an inconspicuous pasty.

I broke off a piece and smelled it.  Unsurprisingly, it smelled like fish.  I held it out for Keeks to smell.  "It smells gross," she confirmed.  "You're gonna eat it?"

I sighed.  "Yes.  You should try new things.  So I'm gonna eat it."

"Okay, Kayla.  I'll count to five.  No, ten."

"And then I have to eat it?"

She nodded.  "One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Six."  I put the fork up to my mouth and took a deep breath.  "Seven.  Eight.  Nine.  Ten, Kayla!"

I ate it.  It was okay.  It didn't have the texture of a slab of fish.  It was lightly seasoned, which cut down on the grossness.  Not as good as fish and chips, but better than most of the fish I've tried on this blog.

And I ate the whole thing!

"Good job, Kayla."

"Thanks, Keeks.  You need to eat more hot dog."

Adventures in Babysitting

Last night, I was babysitting.  Just one girl, four years old, and I've been babysitting her for about two years now.  Normally we just bake Rainbow Cupcakes.  (Seriously, like, every time I babysit her.)  Last night, she convinced me to adventure.  While my adventure with her may not have been film-worthy, it was blog-worthy.

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.