Smash

A boy after my own heart. We have been trying solid foods now, and it is almost like a game. We try to read Oli's cryptic facial expressions in order to know what in the world he is thinking. It goes something like this:

The first bite.
Was that a grimace or surprise?
Probably surprise.
Was it a good surprise or a bad surprise?
Just plain old surprise.
Try it again.
Still not sure.
Is he spitting it out or fighting tongue thrust?
If he is spitting it out he is doing a bad job of it.
However, if he is trying to eat it he is doing a pretty bad job at that too.
He is whining.
Does he want more or no more?
Does he want me to be faster about it or stop altogether?

And this is how my brain is working the entire time. That being said, I think I now have a norm to compare to. Oliver does not like baby food chicken. I can't blame him; the stuff smells horrible. I think he does like squash. This one smelled normal enough for me to test. And it tasted like squash...in case you were wondering.

Just as little kids always do, I had near-perfect names for most foods. Matthew's family called milk, bok. The boy I babysat called strawberries, straw-babies. I called zucchini, bikini. And my favorite, in our family squash became smash. They are basically the same idea anyway. Both involve a verb that crushes something. They start with the same letter. And end with the same 'sh' sound. Therefore they are the same. Right? They should be interchangeable. For example: That was a squashing party!

So, if you come over to our house for dinner I may just serve you a side of delicious winter smash.