“Mom! More brussel sprouts, please!”
Guess who said that.
I’m trying to make this a participatory post.
We got brussels sprouts in our Timber Creek order two weeks in a row. Myron can’t stand them, so Alyssa makes sure they go to my box when we divide the goods. Then there was that full table of witnesses to Zane’s most recent eating habits during this Sunday’s church potluck . Habits which consisted of maybe a bite of fried chicken, a carrot or two, and then anything chocolate that wasn’t nailed down. See, Zane tends to go hog wild at these events since the only sweet I keep in the house nowadays is Nutella.
And Riki. New friend Riki, whose love affair with brussels sprouts may just border on obsessive. She’s a pusher. I’m certain of it. Don’t be surprised if you find me sneaking around her place in the dead of night looking for a brussels sprouts fix when I relocate to Beaver, as I am now hooked on the little green yummies – especially when roasted and crunchy.
Same with Zane.
I know it’s hard to believe, but picture my boy at the dinner table this evening. One hand clutching a drumstick (and actually eating it). The other wielding a fork with a tiny crunchy sprout of God’s Green Goodness speared to the end.
Down it went.
“Mom! More brussel sprouts please!”
Kale for Harper.
Brussels sprouts for Zane.
Fried chicken, pizza, buffalo wings, ice cream, and popcorn for their stressed out mama who while prayerfully waiting for God to sell this house is eating everything in sight.
Brussels sprouts included. To my credit.