Dear Brigham,

One day I hope you are cursed with a child who is as stubborn and picky an eater as you are.  I will never forget sitting at the table with your brother while we heard from the bedroom:  spank #1..."Briggie are you going to eat it?"....spank #2..."Now will you eat it Briggie?"....spank #3....it took four spanks to break you.  You have been spanked only a handful of times in your life- all the other times for doing something dangerous to your immediate health and well-being.  We don't like to think of ourselves as spankers, but when your eating repertoire dwindled to about five foods, Daddy felt it was time for drastic measures.  I condoned it, I don't mind saying.  Only because you would not be bribed, bullied or cajoled into eating your dinner.  Spinach feta risotto, I think it was.  That was kind of a mean thing to serve a four-year-old wasn't it?  

Well, your spanking days are, I hope, well behind you and yet you remain a picky eater.  Last night I made Thai roasted eggplant salad.  You sat at the table for an hour and a half.  I sent your brother to sit by you and eat candy corn from a bowl, hoping that would motivate you.  The rest of us went outside to play croquet on the lawn and still you sat.  Finally I allowed you to join us, but there would be no food unless and until you ate your dinner.  You would not touch it.  

Around 5:00 this morning you came into our room and announced, pitifully: "I threw up."  My heart ached a bit when I saw that all you had in your stomach was about a half a cup of slimy green bile.  You slept all morning, finally waking up around 11:00 and demanding gatorade and/or rice milk.  I snagged Marley by the foot as she crawled by on her way to some mischief in the kitchen and we headed to Kroger, where, you said you had seen rice milk many times and you could direct me to the exact isle that housed it.  When we got to the stop light I noticed the "Mexican pupuseria/taqueria/convenience store" on the corner and pulled in.  We purchased some horchata mix and headed home.  

You drank your mexican rice milk slowly, as instructed and then began to do what you always do when you recover from the stomach flu: wax poetic about food.  All kinds of food you would never consider eating if you hadn't just starved for twenty four hours.  Once I was chopping an onion and you asked me for a piece of it.  This morning I vetoed your first five suggestions because we either didn't have them or they didn't exist (like "cheesy cereal").  We finally settled on "fried toast overflowing with butter".  You had one large piece and are now asking for a second. 

Something tells me tonight you'll be back to your old ways, sitting slumped in your chair, mouth clamped, digging in for a long night of negotiations over the amount and composition of your dinner.  But it's been nice to have your alter-ego here for a few hours.  I'm really going to miss him.