Grilled cheese

Beware: the simple joys of the weekend cause a few too many cheesy similes.

Slowly. Very slowly we have been adding dairy back into Kassy's diet. We started with a slice of cheese. Then another the next day and then another. Her big eyes would glow with anticipation as she tasted the forbidden food. Probably cheese is that much creamier and wonderful after a three year hiatus, especially when you can't remember eating it at two. She got bolder and started asking for yogurt. She's been eying yogurt for well over a year. She watches people eat yogurt the way an infant, who is ready for something other than mama's milk, watches people eat.

So it's been three weeks of small, daily doses of dairy--either cheese or yogurt. And nothing. No side effects. No illness. Just silent rejoicing. The kind you hesitate to share because what if it goes away? This weekend was the pinnacle of the experiment--yesterday at a friend's birthday party she had ice cream. Not frozen fruit ice granules with fancy names like Italian ice or sorbetto but real ice cream. Ice cream was a staple treat of my growing up years. I fondly remember bike rides on hot summer days to Baskin Robbins and a scoop of Gold Medal Ribbon (did you see they are opening up a BR here--right by Target--memory triumphs taste for me and I will always prefer BR to Cold Stone Creamery). But really, have you ever teared up giving your child ice cream? I did.

And then today. Oh today I wish I had thought to take a picture. For a variety of reasons Kassy earned a privilege today. She picked, "Choose favorite meal for mom to cook." This treat gets picked with some frequency---only rule is you must plan a balanced meal. I asked Kass what she wanted and she smiled like a kid who had opened a long wished for birthday gift and said,"Grilled Cheese." She sat in the kitchen watching every step. Memorizing them. Supervising the placement of the cheese. And then she stared at her sandwich on the griddle as I silently hoped the tapioca bread would brown well. And if she had been a dog, she would have been drooling. And I laughed as asked for the tenth time,"How much longer?" She never eats fast, unless she LOVES the food. And this sandwich she ate leisurely, too precious for high speed, eyes closed, with a giant smile on her face. It turned out perfectly just pleasantly brown with the cheese completely melted. And I wondered---where did she learn to close her eyes when eating something delicious? Is it instinct or do we learn by watching?

Tomorrow for lunch? She wants me to make Annie's Mac and Cheese with Rice Pasta and put it in her thermos!

We haven't tackled cows milk. The proteins in that are more troubling to a stomach than cheese and yogurt. For now, I'll let her relish the joys of these foods that were once denied. Praise the Lord!