Eat Your Vegetables

I had this posted on my kids blog, but I thought it should be enjoyed by all:

Moms never really understand. “Eat your vegetables,” they always say. Who likes those nasty things anyway?

Malcolm sat at the table poking at his potatoes, bypassing his broccoli, evading his endive, turning his nose up at his tomatoes. “Why can’t we have pizza?” He wined to him mom.  She gave him the mom look – no words, just eyeballs. Perhaps she didn’t learn English very well in school, he thought. Maybe she’s going deaf in her old age.

“Do I have to eat them?” He begged. He had to. She was bigger than him, after all. If he didn’t agree their might be a struggle which he was sure to loose. She might make him (gulp) sit at the table all night.

“Yes,” was her answer. Didn’t parent believe in explanations?

After the vegetables were eaten, the dishes were done and the favorite toy was adequately played with, it was bed time. Malcolm actually didn’t mind bed time so much. He liked his stuffed friends because they always did exactly what he wanted to do. And they were soft. He liked his jammies because they had rocket ships on them and he liked to dream. Dreaming was definitely the best part of sleeping.

Malcolm hugged Fuzzy the green bunny. Snuggled tight under the fluffy covers his eye got heavier and heavier until – GRRRRRRRR! A giant carrot was growling at him.  His mouth was filled with sharp root teeth, his eyes were like fire. Malcolm turned on his heels only to bump into something large, smooth, slightly soft and purple. An Eggplant Ogre! Malcolm looked up…. and up….. and up to the spiky green top mop of hair on the Eggplant Ogre’s head. His eyes were beady and still higher up in his hand was a giant cucumber club.

Before he realized it Malcolm’s attention was caught by a noise. (Luckily so was the Eggplants.) What was it? It sounded like feet. Yes, hundreds of tiny feet stepping in rhythm. It was an army. An army of mushroom men with their little round mushroom helmets and their pea-shooters, ready to take aim.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH,” Malcolm screamed. He ducked passed the Eggplant, who groaned with stupidity as he shot by, and he ran with his head back, his mouth agape with screaming and his arms and legs flailing like a girls.  Until – Pop! A leafy ninja? The Jolly Green Giant? No! Brussel Sprout Bakugans! They rolled in by the dozens. Stop. Pop. Not only were they scary, they smelled bad too.

He was done for. He knew it. But, suddenly, a silver flash cut through the air. The Brussel Sprout Bakugan’s head flew over his left shoulder. Then another, and another. They were dropping like flies. Who was this apron clad hero? OMG! It was mom! Her steak knives flashed furiously, one in each hand. Bravely she chopped the brussel sprouts, stocially she skewered the Eggplant Ogre, menacingly she yelled at the approaching mushrooms.

“Malcolm!” she called, “here!” A giant silver fork shot through the air toward him and pierced the ground in front of his feet. “It’s eat or be eaten, sweetheart!”

Malcolm plucked the fork out of the ground, gave his best Klingon battle cry and charged at the broccoli headed his way…..He sat up in bed. Fuzzy was on the floor, his covers were at the bottom of his bed and he had to pee. Thank god it was only a dream.

The next night at dinner mom handed him his fork and he dug in. Salad, ggggrrrrrr.

Malcolm had a dream….

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