Vegetable Excursions

My entry for Jess_Raine's writing contest, which had to be inspired by the word 'bewildered':) Enjoy and stay beautiful!

Rachelle

This is based off of a true story.

I looked over from where I sat at the dinner table, seeing my four year old sister strategically place the gallon of milk in front of her plate so that our parents couldn’t see her. Smiling deviously, I saw her spoon up her peas, and, one by one, catapult them into the corner, making sure neither of our parents were watching as she did so.

Sarah hated eating vegetables. Every night, she would find a new way to get rid of them, leaving my parents thinking that she was a well-behaved little girl who was very good about eating her vegetables.

It wasn’t until last week that they started to realize that Sarah may not be eating them. Puzzled, they tried to keep a close eye on her antics during dinner, but they could never catch her in the act. I almost always saw, but I wouldn’t tell, and Sarah knew that. It was too funny to give away.

On Monday, Sarah had tucked her carrots under our other sister’s plate, effectively framing her and earning her a week without television. On Tuesday, she left to “use the bathroom.” I was the only one who noticed the napkin containing the brussel sprouts poking out of her left pocket, and how when she came back the napkin was gone.

“Sarah,” I had began, “Where are your vegetables?”

She giggled and told me that she flushed them down the toilet.

I immediately raced to the bathroom, knowing what I would find. One wet-shirt change and toilet plunger later, we were back at the dinner table, acting like nothing happened.

That’s why on Wednesday she simply threw her asparagus into the trashcan and covered it with toilet paper, instead of flushing it. Sarah knows I don’t like plunging overflowing brussel-sprout toilets.

Thursday’s peas will be discovered when my mom sweeps the house later, but for now, they’re in a neat little green pile.

Friday was my favorite vegetable excursion. I think Sarah had run out of hiding places, or perhaps was in a sugary mood, because when my mother dished her out green beans she asked if she could have chocolate instead.

“No, Sarah.” My mom had answered. “Chocolate isn’t a vegetable.”

Sarah made a pouty face and shook her head. “It comes from a bean. Chocolate is a vegetable.”

My mom had stopped dishing out the green beans and looked at her with a bewildered expression. My dad, sister and I all cracked up laughing.

And so, for the sheer wittiness of a four-year-old’s comment, we were all rewarded with Hershey bars on the side of our chicken dinners.

Today is Saturday, which is the day my mother cleans the house. Sarah sits at a table, coloring a picture of all the Disney princesses. My dad is at work, and our other sister, Kaitlin is reading a book in her bedroom.

I am watching my mother with her broom, anxiously awaiting the moment when she reaches the peas in the corner. I cannot wait for her reaction.

When she finds them, her reaction is almost comical.

“Sarah Ann!” She yells, pointing at my sister. Sarah takes one look at my mother surrounded by the dried up peas and runs for it, locking herself in a kitchen cupboard.

After many minutes of yelling at Sarah to get out, my mother gives up and goes to clean the rest of the house.

I pop some popcorn and sit in chair, ready to watch what’s about to go down.

The peas aren’t the only thing she’ll find today, that’s for sure. Yelling fills the air at random moments that my mom comes across dried up, hidden vegetables from long ago.

Beets in an empty tube of lipstick.

Lima beans in the box of Kleenex.

Carrot sticks placed on top of each of the black keys on the piano.

Asparagus in the bathroom garbage.

Corn under the lid of the Xerox printer.

My mother tells Sarah that this better not happen again. We exchange knowing glances, though.

Won’t happen again?

Of course it will.