IB (grandson) is a picky eater. Whatever you put in his plate multiplies by five. When you look at his plate, say after half an hour, the food is still there— all scattered into bits on the plate. By this time he is fed up with his food as well, because magically it has not been finished, so he removes himself from the agonizing sight of food, and plonks himself on the sitting room sofa.
He gets engrossed with his iPad, and completely forgets that he hasn’t done any justice to his food. After sometime he notes that nobody (means me) is watching him, he raids the pantry, or the fridge to find something else to nibble. That something maybe chips, cans of fuzzy drink, or coke, or cotton candy.
He doesn’t like onions, or tomatoes in his food. The bits of tomatoes are all fished out of the food, and left on his plate. I’m getting smart with his ways. I put the lot through a Ninja, and finely blend it to trick him into eating. He used to like pineapple on pizzas when bought from outside, but a homemade pizza with bits of pineapple on it is a total no no.
Last night, after I had served him with my homemade pizza, he told me scathingly, “No one puts pineapple on a pizza”. His father reminded him that he always ordered it to add it on for a store bought one. IB turned to me for the final word, and ordered, “You can live without it”.
He never finishes his food, but today it’s a wonder— he drank his milk, orange juice, and ate his waffles, and strawberries.
The sight of IB’s empty plate brings joy to my heart.
Flowers and Breezes 