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!”

Some evidence:

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.