My 18 month old daughter, Audrey, loves beans. Black, pinto, kidney, great northern, whichever, she likes them. Refried, in chili, as a side dish, however, she likes them.
Green beans, though, not so much. Wax beans, either. Not canned, not fresh, not frozen, no matter how I prepare them, she won’t eat them.
Last night, at dinner, in an attempt to persuade her to eat her green beans, I decided to show her that they are really “her” kind of beans, only cloaked. I gently opened a green bean, showing her the tiny seeds inside. She eyed them with suspicion, then dexterously plucked the beans from their case and ate them approvingly. We did a few more like that, but she still wouldn’t eat the whole thing. Sighing, I returned to my dinner.
Then, I hear a little voice, in an asking tone, “Peek’oo bean! Peek’oo bean!”
Holy cow. “Peek’oo” is her contraction for “peek-a-boo.” You know, the universal baby game where something hides from view, and then, upon revelation, “Peek-a-boo!” is cried.
Audrey had christened green beans — their inner beans, that is, the seeds — as “peek’oo” beans.
I thought that was hilarious, and quite clever and endearing. Somewhat annoying, too, as she got more and more demanding for my husband and I to shuck those green beans in favor of the “real” beans hidden inside.
But I got her to eat those green beans, finally. Sort of.
