To fry or not to fry

I was quite the picky eater growing up. Canvas the extended family and you will find that every relative remembers the same scenario at every family party. Me and rolls and chips. I guess it was the rare situation when my mother just let me eat what I wanted.

So now the fight begins about what the Boo can and cannot eat. His father has been begging me for weeks now--"he NEEDS french fries." Yeah, like he needs a hole in his head. Then we'll become the people who take their kid to dinner and order a side of fries to go with our Dungeness Crab or our Alaskan Sockeye.

You know those people whose kids only eat french fries. Occasionally they'll eat a sugar-coated cereal for breakfast, but the mother spends twice a day in the McDonald's drive thru. I can't do it.

My fear is being that mother. I mean, it's a slippery slope. First it is a french fry for dinner and then the kid is mainlining waffle fries, steak fries, shoelace fries. I'll go up to his crib in the night to check on him and there will be a mound of french fries in that corner that he hoarded in his little chipmunk cheeks until he was able to free his stash (presumably for a late night snack).

This weekend the kid had his first fry. He also had his first asparagus. His reaction to each could have been interchangable. Mild interest.

There is a God and He loves me.