Busted

Yesterday we had dinner at my parents' house. This in itself is a regular occurrence as my mother is a fabulous cook, plus we like having outside confirmation that our children are brilliant little hellions. Anyway, one thing about eating at my parents' house is that you are guaranteed to get a salad and a green vegetable (unlike when you eat at our house half the time, but that's another blog). Usually I consider this a bonus, even though my children refuse to eat either. But yesterday the veggie was asparagus, which is a definite winner of the "Vegetables I Still Hate" award in my happy little world.

But I always put some on my plate to set a good example for my children. And to shut my parents and husband up. Anyway, usually the asparagus remains on my plate until it is carried out to the kitchen and surreptitiously dumped into the garbage can after dinner. But yesterday, right after I asked for more mashed potatoes, Ironflower piped up with, "But Mommy, your asparagus looks like it's getting cold!"

Naturally, every eye went to my plate. My plate with it's three lone stalks of asparagus among the dregs of pork roast and mashed potatoes. It was like being eight years old again, faced with eating the horrible asparagus so that I could leave the table and go play with my Barbies. Realizing that using my 8 year old solutions of whining and/or hiding the asparagus under bread crusts, I ate the asparagus. With a pleasant expression on my face so that my children would see that asparagus is yummy. Just like mashed potatoes.

But you know what? I still don't think asparagus is yummy. And I think Ironflower could tell.