Peppery Spice and all that is nice.

At 4 Turner takes the long sigh that sounds like his lungs are totally emptying themselves. It means he is lost in slumber. I enjoy watching him for far too long (given that school started yesterday). It seems like there is a loud noise outside and I look over Turner's silent body at the clock. It says 5:10. I get up and wander to my computer. In less than twenty minutes Turner is snuggled against me as I read him my homework and he asks me what words mean. 

Although I am dressed for the gym, the two of us decide to make dinner. I start pulling things from the freezer and fridge as he eats a granola bar, drinks milk, feeds fish, flies his airplane, and tells me about the spaceship at school. I broil brussels sprouts (I know Jack, they're your favorite) and tilapia (fresh - and boy it was worth the extra dollar), boil some pasta, whip up a little pesto, sun dried tomatoes, and mushrooms, slice carrots (crunchy for Turner), and sliver almonds. 

The fish has "stuff" on it that Turner does not care for. Thankfully I am aware of his genetic predisposition (on both sides, thank you very much) for finicky eating. I make him a special fish that is free of stuff. There is, of course, a little pepper on it because, as always, good mom ideas seem to emerge a tinsy bit too late. His fish is plain on one side and minimally peppery on the other. I put it on his plate plain side up. I hope he doesn't notice. One bite in he flips it over. He looks at me. He moves his nose high up in the air and says, "Mom. This is spicy with pepper."

I brush the pepper off. I turn the fish back over. I hand it back to him. He is not convinced. I should rewind a bit and tell you that he spent the first five minutes of dinner complaining about all that was in front of him (the new habit). My response - whether good or bad - is to take his plate and drink away and tell him he isn't required to eat. Now, with Andy as a child this probably would have been his delight. Turner, however, doesn't want to be left out of dinner and enjoys eating as much as I do. Therefore, he asks for his food back. I return to him his plate with the advice that he should eat what he wants, leave the rest, and stop complaining.

That is when he turns the fish over and sees the pepper. 

Once his fish is pepper free (or more free-ish), he gobbles up the entire filet on his plate. We discuss where it originated (pond, ocean, river). He eats a carrot and is surprised to find it crunchy as he likes. He smiles. "Mom. You make the greatest fish ever." And then, moments later, "Mom. This is sooo yummy. I love it."