I think it may sound like I’m an overzealous, health nut, spinach-force-feeding mother. Not true. While I try very hard to ensure my little guy eats a decent meal at least once a day, I’m a realist. Case in point, my husband’s company picnic last night. Very kid friendly, both with entertainment and food. But what does mine do? Bypasses the chicken tenders, scoffs at the hot dog, turns his nose up at the pasta salad and settles in on a hamburger bun dotted with barbecue grease and a Kool-Aid pouch. Fortunately my husband threw some fwoot into the diaper bag so he ate that as well (reference 5/11/12 post for the definition of “fwoot”). He was more than happy to wander around the grounds clutching his grease-soaked bun until every last morsel was swallowed. Did I care? Nope. My only issue was the fact that he swiped the bun from me, so I had to eat my barbecue with a fork.