My children are rather picky about vitamins.  Generally, if a vitamin could be consumed through corn chips or chocolate, they would consider the world a place of safety and good-will.

But being that vitamins and minerals must come through unlikely places such as rutabagas, they are a little miffed.  I try to speak in excitement about food. 

“Look, we are eating the rainbow!”

“Look at the beautiful colors God has created in food!”.

And they just look at me and gag, and hold their throats.  “Mom, I’m gonna throw up“, as they stare down the broccoli and look in hatred at the green beans.  Some day I just want to venture beyond mandarin oranges and bananas.  It is like Stage 2 Baby Food at our home.  We have graduated from pureed pears, but we are stuck on 4 or less fruits and veggies.  I am itching to branch out into the brave new world of produce.  What does a rutabaga taste like, anyway?  I want to know.

While the cat’s away, the mice will play- right?

And what they don’t know will not hurt them.  So, I configured my instruments of health and wellness and set to work.  Chop, chop and saute.

And then my food processor got working and whirring. 

“Take that, Anna and Josh.  Spinach and tomatoes and garlic and onion”.  And they came together in excellent harmony, if the smell was any indication.  A spaghetti sauce full of dirty little secrets.

Will paid careful attention to each and every detail.

He is such a mature and helpful boy.  Patient too.  I would hate my life of constant interference if I was him, but so far he seems to weather his place in the family with grace and no shortage of smiles.  And some concern, I suppose.

Pat the Vulture happened to be working from home, and swooped in for a kiss.  But really his heart was in the food, and so he nudged me aside and helped himself.

He declared it “Good!”.  But of course, my harshest critics- the ones who make retching noises at my meals- are not home yet.