Right, young lady. How does one go from cramming fistfuls of peas, corn, and broccoli into their mouth like you were only being fed once a day to spewing your disdain with aggressive syncopation when you so much as see them from across the kitchen? Huh? Tell me that. Why I oughtta…

And who hurls food like an Olympic discuss hurdler? Honestly! I put peas on the tray, you look at me with those big blue eyes and squash each individual pea with your thumb, smear it around on the tray–still looking at me–and then grab and toss, grab and toss. Peas on the blinds, in the baseboard register (that’s going to smell fantastic come winter), on the floor, on the window ledge, in your hair, in my hair, and of all places the gritty, terracotta planter where our one-step-above-dead money tree grows (no cash crop here). You know I hate running my fingers over gritty surfaces. Makes my back shiver. Gawd.

I found a post about teaching kids to not throw food. The website is a little loud color-wise, but I’ll try the suggestion and see what happens. Otherwise I’m going to turn you upside down and drag you over the floors until you inhale every scrap of food. I’m not kidding. Don’t even think about it.

Seriously. Don’t you dare throw that prune. Don’t do it. I’m warning you…

Dammit.