Broccoli

As I mentioned some time ago, Cousin Lizzie plays an important role in our world as a paragon of mature behavior. When we put on sunscreen, we talk about how good Margaret is to allow us to smear this stuff on her. "A big girl, just like Lizzie!" When we put on her hat to ward off the sun, she "looks like a big girl, just like Lizzie!" When she puts on her PJs without fussing, she's "being a big girl, just like Lizzie!" In fact, for almost anything that a two-year-old might find objectionable, which turns out to be just about everything, we use Cousin Lizzie as the exemplar of good behavior. (Her parents must find this so ironic.)

During dinner tonight, Margaret tried to call our bluff for the first time. (In any given situation, she may continue to shriek while ignoring our references to Lizzie, but so far she hasn't questioned the veracity of our claims about her cousin.) We were eating broccoli. Now, I happen to like broccoli, but I can understand how someone might dislike it. However, not the way that I cooked it tonight (tossed with some olive oil, salt, pepper, a bit of sugar and roasted at 500 degrees for 15 minutes or so on a tray that's been heated along with the oven - really caramelizes it and makes it sweet.) Margaret would have none of it. As is often the case, I suspected that she would like it if she would only try it. "One for papa and one for Margaret!" I said, trying our trick of getting her to eat it simultaneously with me. No luck. "One for papa, one for mama and one for Margaret," I said, bringing Abby into the mix. Still no luck. Finally, I brought out the big guns. "Lizzie likes broccoli. One for papa, one for Lizzie and one for Margaret?" Margaret shook her head in response. "But Lizzie likes broccoli." A shake of the head. "Doesn't Lizzie like broccoli?" "No." "Ok, let's check into this." I got the phone and dialed the Philly relatives on speakerphone. Joe answered. "Hey Joe, we're having a debate here about whether or not Lizzie likes broccoli." Joe confirmed that she does, although she prefers the crowns to the stems (a reasonable opinion, I think.) As he was adding this last detail, I pointed out his response to Margaret and, bam, she put a piece in her mouth. Chomp, chomp, chomp. I thanked Joe for his help as Margaret picked up another piece of broccoli. I knew that she would like it, although we did have to negotiate a bit to get her to finish all of it with a bowl of ice cream as the ultimate reward.

But the real reason that Margaret is a big girl (like Lizzie!) tonight is because of what she did when we were getting ready for bed. I asked, in a low-key way, if she wanted to sit on the potty, and she assented. I gave her a big Richard Scarry's book with lots of pictures and words to pass the time. As often happens, she asked whether papa would also like to sit on the potty with a book. "Sure," I said, "But let me change the sheets on the bed first." As I was changing the sheets, Margaret informed me that "Margaret goes poo-poo?" Then "Margaret goes pee-pee?" I let her have her time on the potty, but then when her claims were verified, we effusively praised her and called Grandma Mary and Grandpa Dave to let Margaret report the big news. A big girl like Lizzie indeed.