I realize that many people think they have drama queens on their hands. It very well could be true. My daughter, Emma, is almost four...going on fourteen. She has a habit of acting like a teenager. Or should I say backtalking like a teenager? Everything is a trial. Everything is an inconvenience. The world must answer to Emma.
One of Emma's best qualities is that she doesn't complain about food. She eats nearly anything you put in front of her, so when she dislikes something, there's no need to argue. Fish, chicken, steak, even venison are all acceptable to her.
One night I made spaghetti. Something we have three or four times a month. I try to change it up for some variety now and then. So, I put in some extra fresh ingredients to brighten it up. I top it off with fresh parsley.
Emma gets halfway through the meal when she realizes something is different.
"What is this green stuff, Mommy?" she asked quizzically.
"It's parsley," I reply.
She throws her hands in the air and places one to her forehead in utter exasperation and wails:
"Well, it's the first time I've ever had it, and now. My life. Is ruined."
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