Fine Then. I Won't Paint The Yellow Easter Egg.

Smack dab in the middle of some tactical reverse psychology on a six-year-old yesterday, I was reminded of a poem I loved when I too was a wee'un. It's by Dennis Lee, and I swear I still knew almost all of it - even 25 years later.

When they bring me a plate
Full of stuff that I hate
Like spinach and turnips and guck.
I sit very straight
and I look at the plate
and I quietly say to it: "Yuck!"

Little kids bawl,
cause I used to be small
and throw it all over the tray.
But now I am three
and much more like me
so I "Yuck!" 'til they take it away.

But sometimes my Dad
gets terrifically mad
and he says, "Don't you drink from that cup!"
But he can't say it right,
cause he's not very bright.
So I trick him and drink it all up.

Then he gets up and roars
and he stomps on the floor
and he hollers, "I warn you, don't eat!"
He counts up to ten
and I trick him again,
and I practically finish my meat.

Then I start on the guck,
and my Daddy goes, "Yuck!"
and scrunches his eyes 'til they hurt.
So I shovel it in
and he grins a big grin
and then we all have dessert!

Granted, she 'accidentally 'dropped and smashed it shortly after I was finished my masterpiece. So the joke may have been on me. Happy Easter, regardless!