Lyra Eats

Sitting on the table: a bowl of cheerios, a half-eaten apple, scrambled eggs, one glass of juice, one glass of milk, and one glass of water.

This is Lyra's breakfast.

I saunter off to the bathroom, where I spend approximately five minutes brushing my teeth and washing my face. When I get back, the eggs are dark brown and gooey.

"Lyra... what is that?" She points to a small heap of brown powder next to her bowl. Chocolate jello mix. Gross. Where does she keep finding these things? I can't even remember buying jello.

"Gorgeous - chocolate eggs? Is that good?"

"I like chocolate eggs." She spoons another fudgy bite into her mouth.

"Ok. Alright. I'm getting dressed now."

This is the girl who, on Saturday, refused to eat her eggs until they were daintily anointed with candy sprinkles, the kind most people never witness except on ice cream cones. Rather than locking away the liquor, we have to hide even the most innocent-looking of decorative toppings: the icing I used once when I made her first-birthday cake, the green sprinkles from Christmas, the food dye. Once I found her on our kitchen counter, making "muffin-cakes" for her friend Selma. Twenty cupcake liners arranged neatly into rows on the counter, each with a few drops of food coloring and a generous shake of green sprinkles.

Other times I have found her raiding the freezer, her mouth stuffed full of bon-bons or any other tasty frozen treat that was doomed to live a brief but meaningful existence. The thrill seems to be in the verboten; if I were to actually hand her an ice cream cone she would but take a few quick licks, decorate it with marshmallows, and declare it unsound. This is a dangerous enterprise, usually resulting in me locating the cone, abandoned, melted, and mushy, possibly in a closet or deep within the cushions of the couch. Sometimes she just feeds it to the dog.

When it comes to "real food," at least she gives us a few options: macaroni and cheese is popular, as is white rice and occasionally spaghetti. Most of the time she flatly states she's not interested in "real dinner," and can she please have a bowl of cereal, no milk this time. Whatever. I'm happy to feed her anything that isn't composed ONLY of sugar.

I'm certain some of you might be quite upset that I've taken this blase attitude toward my daughter's eating habits, but I like to think that I'm fostering independence and teaching Lyra about consequences. The consequence, for instance, of my no longer stocking bon-bons in the house. Or Oreos. Or candy sprinkles. And especially the one where she has to brush her teeth... for the fifth time... in one day.

But like I said, whatever. She's a kid, she likes sweets, and most of what she steals goes straight into the dog anyway. They're a team.

Besides, I know that one of these days she'll be like me and care not so much for sprinkles as she does for paying bills and getting work in on time, and the highlight of her day might be to come home to a quiet house and crack open a beer before she takes one last stab at that project and heads off to bed.

She'll have a satisfying life, I know, but the love of the adult world can just never compare to the love of a child for candy sprinkles.