Sometimes Brian goes on a grapefruit bender. He'll buy a big bag at the grocery store and eat two a day for a while. This month was the first time Helen wanted to try it. Her newest trick is to try something, make a face like she's just tasted gravel, and immediately say, "I like it!" She'll proceed to demand it at every meal for a week.
Grapefruit has been no exception. She saw the latest big bag on the counter this morning and asked for it. I told her no, that's Daddy's grapefruit. She said, "SHARE Daddy's grapefruit. SHARE."
That kid's a quick one, I tell ya.
I inherited the anti-grapefruit gene from my dad, who spent every Christmas morning trying to figure out how to make his "special Christmas breakfast" of grapefruit disappear so he could open presents. I think he had some willing siblings as accomplices, but some years it was probably a bit touch & go on whether he got to see the Lincoln logs or not. So my sister and I grew up in a house without grapefruit. Later in my adult life, I tried grapefruit juice and found the whole experience to be a little too sour. To be married to a man who's such a fan of the stuff is a little strange, but fortunately he doesn't put down a plate of it in front of me and make me eat the whole thing before I can watch any TV. So we're good.
But now I've got a kid who likes it and wants to eat it. So what do I do? Take pictures, of course!