Tough Crowd

We’re in the car (again, always), heading home from school. Saoirse asks me what we’re having for dinner.8.31.16. Avocados. Cian hand lunch“Quesadillas,” I say. “Tomatoes. Avocados.” They don’t need to know that I’m going to gourmet the shit out of those quesadillas. Or that those beautiful red and orange tomatoes ripening on our counter will turn into the simplest, best pico de gallo ever. You’ll see why.

I can hear the children groan, quietly, in the back seat.

“Avocados?!” says Cian. “YUCK.”

“Thank you, buddy,” I reply. I forget that toddlers don’t compute sarcasm until he reminds me.8.31.16. Avocados. avocado 2

“NO,” he says. “I said yuck.”

8.31.16. Avocados. Cian eatingThey say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I’m wondering at what point my children will learn that the way to their mother’s heart is just to be quiet and eat whatever gruel she puts in front of them. Because, apparently it’s gruel.

The avocados, I mean.



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