Yesterday was a beautiful fall day, and while Eric went grocery shopping, Chloë and I went outside. I intended that we'd take a walk; but after we crossed the street a few times (she's getting better about having her hand held in the street) what she really wanted to do was crawl up and then be helped down the porch stairs. Over and over. Occasionally she'd vary it by walking to the front door and walking back, or walking down the front path to the driveway and back, but mostly it was up and down, up and down, up and down.
Eventually she grew tired of that game--momentarily; we wandered to the backyard and then it was the same with the back porch. Then she spied the container of drying onions and elecampane roots I had on one corner of the porch. She examined them with great interest. She picked up an onion--these were all baby onions, smaller than a golf ball--and bit into it.
"Ugh!" I exclaimed, as she got this unhappy look on her face. I pried the bits of onion peel out of her mouth and wiped the dirt off her chin. "Now aren't you sorry you tried that?"
She looked at me, and looked at the onion, and bit into it again with a crunch. Then she picked up another one and did the same thing.
I let her do it. Who am I to argue with a girl who likes to eat raw onions?