Thursday, March 1, 2012


I have screwed this kid up. I tried to raise him vegetarian, but once he made the meat-animal connection, I let him make his own choices about meat eating. His choice was an enthusiastic, "More, please." The result is the worst of both worlds: He can't stand the taste or texture of meat, but he desperately wants to be a meat eater.

Enter processed meat.

This child has a passion for unidentifiable meat products that makes me fear for his future. We never serve them at home, but if you invite Sidamo to a party, you might want to put the Li'l Smokies on a high shelf.

The other day our organic grocery delivery service was having a sale on relatively un-gross bacon, so I thought I'd get some for Sidamo as a treat. We had breakfast for dinner, and he enthusiastically ate all the bacon he was served. And then had seconds and begged for thirds (I drew the line). We didn't realize it, but there was one piece of bacon left when he started his dessert—a chocolate brownie. I was talking to Greg and we didn't notice what was happening until this was already well underway:

A bacon-brownie sandwich.

Please pray for his arteries.

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