I had visitors at my house over the weekend. My dad, step-mom, and grandma came for a night. They arrived on Saturday evening and played with the kids a bit before bedtime, then the adults settled down for a late evening meal. This begins the Apple Pie Conundrum. Here is the course of events:
Dad: It’s too bad the kids went to bed before they could have any apple pie. I think I’ll feed them some for breakfast. (Dad grabs the can of Reddi-Wip Whipped Cream) And I’m going to take this can of whipped cream and squirt it in their mouths to give them a taste. Wouldn’t that be fun?
Me: Yeah. Go for it (Parenting reason: 1.) Dang. Doesn’t that sound like an awesome breakfast?? 2.) When your dad lives so far away and only sees his grandkids a few times a year, you let the man spoil the children any way he wants. Capiche?).
Son: Mommy, what’s for breakfast?
Me: I think grandpa has something for you.
Dad: (takes out can of whipped cream) Do you want a taste?
Son: Yeah! Yeah! (gets taste of whipped cream, is not as pleased as you might imagine)
I plate up some apple pie for everyone and put whipped cream on top of each slice. Son will NOT eat it. Not even one little bite.
Son: I don’t like it.
The plate sits untouched for most of the morning until my husband decides he’s just going to eat it himself. What a let down. I mean, what almost-4-year-old in his right mind refuses apple pie for breakfast? Weirdo.
My dad, step-mom, and grandma all have to leave around lunchtime so they can drive back to Michigan. We are a little sad, but will see them in a few weeks for Christmas.
There is one slice of apple pie left. I didn’t get any that morning, so I claim it as mine. I load it up with whipped cream. I sit down to eat the pie.
Son: Can I have some pie?
Me: I thought you didn’t like it?
Son: PIE! PIE! PIE! I WANT SOME PIE! I WANT SOME PIE! I WANT SOME PIE!
Me: OK (loads a fork with a bite of pie and feeds to son, expecting he will still not like it)
Son: MORE! MORE! MORE!
I resign to giving my son most of my slice of pie. I do manage to get a few bites of my own, but mostly he ate it.
That’s the Apple Pie Conundrum: Why does my child refuse to eat anything, until it is on MY plate? Even pie. For breakfast. It’s an issue as deep and mysterious as why food from the floor seems to taste better to than the same food from the table.
You’d think I’d be skinnier as this is not the first time my food has been given away to the vultures (a.k.a. my children). That is also a mystery that will never be solved, I suppose.