The pickiest eaters in the universe live in this house. Horrible. Terrible. Finicky. Fussy. If something remotely healthy gets beyond their lips and into the mouth, well, the result is ugly.
We've bribed. We've threatened. We've punished. We've even lied to them about the food actually not being healthy. Nevertheless, the picky eaters continue to live here, and I worry about what will become of their health and bodies as they grow and life's stresses get more intense.
Our doctors have told me not to worry. They've also told me to worry. They've said to give the kids vitamins and other minerals, and they've said to not give them anything.
But last winter I read an article that said that when kids grow their own food, they eat it.
And that is the answer to the question several people have asked me. Why, after all these years, have I decided to attempt a garden?
We bought some topsy turvies and planted tomatoes, quickly dying cucumbers, and a mystery food. We think we might be growing yellow squash there. We also are trying to coax some strawberries out of hibernation. Into a small garden plot went a little corn and some surprise fruit. It's a garden without rhyme or reason, and that makes it perfect for us.
My thinking is that if none of the plants produce any food, my family will still be ahead. You see, my children will have at least touched a green plant with the potential to produce healthy food. And we shall take progress where ever it's available.