You Say Potatoe and I Say Blech-o
January 29, 2008
“In our house we eat one bite of everything. That’s what we do in our house,” Random Granddaughter told Grandma and Grandpa, shortly after they had arrived for a weekend of partying. The Barely Extended Family was partying to celebrate Grandpa’s 64th birthday (just passed), RG’s 4th birthday (arriving next month), and Random Daughter’s acceptance into graduate school (for the second time).
RG can spout the party line, but she still has trouble with the party. That night, RD had fixed broccoli and cauliflower (thereby mixing foods, a practice that offends RG’s culture, but she let it go because she had greater offenses to her culture to do battle with), pork medallions (which RG and everybody else thought were splendid) and scalloped potatoes. The troubles began with the abused potatoes.
RG likes potatoes. Potatoes should be white. RG likes cheese. Cheese should perhaps be in little pieces or between a couple of crackers. Mama (Random Daughter) had decided to mix white potatoes and red potatoes just to see what happened. Of course RD had improperly mixed cheese in with the potatoes, which now looked very strange and mottled. The adults said, “Those potatoes look very strange” and then happily ate them. As RG would happily inform you, “Adults will eat anything and adults are dangerously insane.” Nobody pays any attention to her, of course.
RG looked at the scalloped potatoes on her plate with great disfavor. “Take a bite,” birth mother Mommy urged. RG had forgotten the party line. Reluctantly she put a forkful in her mouth. She made a face. I believe moue is the correct term. She sat that way for a while.
“Chew it up. Wash it down with your kid wine” Mommy said. (The adults were drinking champagne in celebration of Mama’s acceptance into graduate school. RG was drinking apple juice as “kid wine.”)
RG’s moue got firmer. It became a mouerrrrrr or something. Eventually Mommy said, “If you decide to spit it out, please don’t do that at the dinner table. People don’t want to see food coming back out of your mouth at the dinner table. That’s not good manners. Go to the bathroom if you are going to spit it out.”
RG got down from the dinner table and headed for the bathroom. While she was gone, Mommy said, “She’s such a drama queen.”
Eventually RG came back to the table. Eventually, we got to chocolate cake and blowing out candles. RG thought chocolate cake and candles was a much better party line for a queen of the drama.