Back when I was still pregnant, I was at the Berkeley farmer's market, and there was an ice cream stand. This wasn't just any old ice cream - it was pure Berkeley - hand-made ice cream using only the purest ingredients, including organic cream made from cows who really love their lives. Powered by people riding stationary bikes. Just kidding about that last part. Anyway, they were offering free samples on tiny silverware spoons that they then washed in a little sink in back. I offered a spoonful of vanilla to Elan. He let out a scream like I had just offered him a spoonful of sulphuric acid. This from the kid who really likes Rescue Remedy, especially a nice fresh bottle where the brandy is super-strong. He takes it straight from the dropper and then asks for more.
He won't even try ice cream (probably because it's offered to him on a spoon), but he loves popsicles. He gets them as a treat at nursery school, and he asks for them now and then, especially if he sees another kid eating one.
Last week we went to Quail Botanical Gardens in Encinitas (north county San Diego), and he saw kids eating Italian ice.
He was thrilled.
And I had that amusing parental experience of seeing some trait of yours mirrored in your child. Jessica, Evan and I had all finished our ices and Elan was still only about one-third of the way through his. It reminded me of how I used to torture my sister by eating our designated 2-Oreo-dessert so slowly that she would drool watching me lick the icing out of my second Oreo a half-hour after hers were history. The difference is that Elan often loses interest in his popsicles before he manages to finish them, while I kept track of every crumb.
The first time I saw him eat a popsicle, though, he finished the entire thing. It was a big one, and he ate it sitting naked in his Aunt Sara's lap. By the time he was through, we had to hose him down, and Auntie Ra had to take a shower to de-stickify herself.
That's love.
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