My two-year old did not want to pick the strawberries and put them into anything. Where’s the fun in that? She picked them and threw them. Picked them and threw them. Ripe, unripe, all were thrown. If they had to go into the bucket, they had to be tested. One bite. If they were good, into the bucket they went. If sour, they got smooshed under her shoe. There is no future in farming for this child. I am just grateful her hands were too small to crush them, or she might have spent the entire morning making strawberry pulp.
Now I am making shortcakes. Not that fluffy sugary cake from the store that gets marketed as what strawberries should be paired with. That stuff ruins strawberries. Real peasant shortcakes are what I am baking. The kind you smother in barely sweetened cream and berries. The kids have not had it in over a year. They will be so excited.
Since we got our own place to live, their stomach issues have vanished. Mommy’s cooking works best for their developing systems. I can’t tell you how happy I get, watching them clean their plates. No more tantrums at dinner. No more eating what someone else makes. Now we have choices and can eat what we like best and make it from scratch.
Let me get these out of the oven and cooled off before they wake up. Berry picking, or berry throwing, rather, wore all of them out. Easy naptime today!