baby squash

Dad planted butternut squash this year as one of his experimental veggies in his organic vegetable garden.  When he brought one over for us to cook down into soup, we ran into a snag. You see, where we saw food Abigail saw a dolly.

For several days, she carried it around just as it was, wrapped tenderly in a blanket. It was only after Keats pronounced that her dolly was "creepy because it has no face" did she request that we add a face complete with curly hair to match her own. The face was such a success that soon after Abigail requested hands, clothes, and feet.

She and her Baby Squash had many adventures together before the poor squash finally succumbed to that malady which impacts all good vegetables which are frequently dropped, bashed, and run over by boys: rot.

We had a short funeral over the garbage can before Abigail unceremoniously dumped Baby Squash into the can. We heard a dull thud before Abigail went off to wash off her hands. She explained her reasoning so gently: "I don't want to have any Baby Squash juice on me. She was just getting yucky!"

Ah, the never ending depths of a mother's love.