consumption . . .

Katie has been home the last couple of days. So nice.

I can't help but notice the inhalation of edibles. Banana's had to be restocked. Strawberries put under lock and key until dessert. Naked grape stems left in an empty bowl, tucked nicely back into the fridge. Lest you think my little muncher is health conscious, let me put your mind to rest. Massive amounts of mini bagels covered in Nutella were consumed on the sofa. Hum!

Come to think of it, there have been various food idiosyncrasies over the years:

*her fascination with pureed sweet potatoes. Nothing else would do. Anything new? Bleck. The first two years of her life, everything was mixed with strained S.P's. Now of course, they are among the untouchables. Sigh.

*chicken. Any shape, any form, the bird is the word. Except for a brief interlude after she found me . . . hand well inside a raw carcass . . . cleaning out a roaster. After declaring her rabid disgust she quickly removed herself from the kitchen never to return. While Chicken Little reigned supreme, we all know that Elsie, Wilbur and Nemo tend to create a more balanced diet. Unfortunately a little subterfuge was needed, enter:

*gravy. Slurp! When I make brown gravy, I make it by the quart. Chicken, turkey, roast beef . . . into the freezer it goes. Why? Because given enough gravy, it disguises all matter of edibles my kidlet would otherwise snub. Gravy is a food group unto itself.

*We won't mention her early proclivity for Teddy Grahams, fruit roll ups or anything strawberry flavored. Or the fact that she ate largely, every third day . . . thereupon dubbed: hungry days. Her pediatrician repeatedly assured me all was well.

*bacon and eggs. Consumed in high school by the half dozen and half pound. Literally. In one sitting no less. Note: bacon need be dipped in maple syrup.

*Chicken-that-smells-good-when-it-is-cooking. A clear favorite.

*Fried calamari. An early love. Until, that is, someone spilled the beans about them not being fried onion rings as earlier considered. That brought a brief hiatus in consumption.

Other fancies have come and gone but I do have visions of a lovely little, wrinkled faced creature, somewhere in her 80's happily dipping her bacon and chicken and smacking her lips . . . eyes lit with pure enjoyment . . .