By Barbara Briggs Ward

When my 2nd child was still in a high chair and “feeding” himself it was a food fight from beginning to end. The fight was not with me or his father or siblings. The fight was with this curious toddler trying to get those enticing little objects from his plastic plate with puppies staring at him to his mouth.

It was a struggle since he preferred playing with them instead of having them disappear forever. Spaghetti curled up like a kitten; cheerios with that h*** meant to be worn on little fingers-and peas certainly designed for him alone to touch or roll or squish or throw like a miniature ball made his meals a smorgasbord to be toyed with-not eaten.

I kept telling myself it was just a stage he was going through. My mother kept telling me to punish him. My husband kept telling me to do the feeding. His siblings did not find him at all funny. Annoying would best describe their mood with this funny little guy covered in the same meal they had on their plates.

I consulted all the advice books written by professionals. Since they varied in their opinions I put the books away and tried feeding him; tried keeping him in his room while we ate; tried letting him eat before we did. Nothing really worked so I cut down on his portions. It somewhat solved the problem. At least it didn’t take him that long to eat and play; then play some more.

One night a friend of mine joined us. She didn’t have children so once the zoo began she was horrified especially when a few peas went whizzing past her. It was obvious she was happy to say good-bye.

It had to have been at least four years later that I ran into her in a food court of an area mall. To my surprise she had her own little toddler-a beautiful daughter with long curly hair.

My toddler-now six and a half and still curious in a tame sort of way-was with me. She couldn’t believe he was that monster who’d made mush out of his food; the same kid who’d thrown some home runs with his peas. She asked me if I’d like to join them. So we did. And the food fight began. But it wasn’t my child. He was content. It was that beautiful little girl turned the monster with her food. I wanted to tell my friend it was just a stage but I didn’t say a thing. She’d find out. We parents always do for one thing even the experts can agree upon-one stage leads to another.