Some nights, I drift off to sleep feeling as smug as if I'd just outwitted the devil. My husband has clued in to my little G spot of contentment, so when he wants to get on my good side, he knows to whisper: "Rio ate lots of vegetables today."
As the mother of a 2-year-old finicky eater, I have a pathological obsession with getting Rio to eat his vegetables. Somehow I have come to believe that vegetables are a magic potion that will detoxify him of the ill effects of all the rice crackers, ice cream and chocolate chip cookies he consumes daily -- and thereby redeem myself as the culprit who feeds him junk so I can get errands done.
Getting greens in their unadulterated form past his tight lips is a Herculean task. Soups and spaghetti sauces are simple concoctions. But when desperate, I have been known to make milkshakes of soy milk, bananas and canned peaches spiked with boiled spinach.
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