M is for Mmmmmmm. Maybe.
"Would you like to order some mushrooms on your scrambled eggs at the diner morning?" he asked her.
"OH, YES," she exclaimed. Nate flagged the waiter.
"You want them on top? On top of the eggs?"
"YES! Lots of mushrooms! I looooove them!"
Wait a minute, I thought - my little picky eater seems just a wee bit too happy about eating mushrooms.
"Thalia, where did you taste a mushroom? With Grandma?"
"With you!" she said brightly.
"With me? Where were we?"
"At the Renaissance Fair," she said.
"Oh," I said. "You mean the men flinging the little white things in those handmade slingshots into your hands?"
"Yes!" she said. "And you caught one and gave it to me and I LIKED IT! I LIKED THE MUSHROOM!"
"Cancel the egg order," I told Nate. "She ate a marshmallow."
Thalia will be excited that tonight, our gracious Fresh Air Fund hosts, the Fairly Odd Mother family, has S'Mores making on the agenda.
Not with mushrooms either.
And not with chocolate syrup. Let's hope.