Lately, we’re eating dinners outside. I thought we’d missed our May window, June notably bringing mosquitoes even up to our second-floor veranda, but it’s cool. We eat and giggle and just ready our hands to clap, clamp down on any errant mosquito. It’s working more than fine.
I think, in fresh air, kids eat even more veggies. It’s like packing for a time away at the seashore or up on a blanket in a forest. You bring out the things of substance and eating cukes and spinach is not such a problem because the smiles are so big, dinner framed by the whistling of a bird or rustling of hedges. Everything is good. The kids alternate bites with friendly neck hugs and, “Can I get you something, Mom” and, “Good job eating, little brother!”
We’re eating more veggies like this, and the kids are better enjoying dinner. I’m finding it just as pleasant to dine with a glass of Pinot as with iced tea. We all set the table and we all carry our dishes and acrylic silverware back inside. We are responsible; we are silly; we are eating for summer, alright.
I could keep this up, but July and its temperatures will be creeping-up. Maybe, though, on a particularly cool night, I’ll make a batch of gazpacho and together, on the balcony, we’ll eat it up.
Maybe they’ll need a grand lure called tortilla chips and the promise of dessert.
For now, it is sheer sweetness.