On the other hand, this is just the sort of thing the children will remember when they grow up.
"Ross," 20-year-old Jane will say, "remember how Mom would sometimes make us cobbler for dinner?"
"Yeah," replies 22-year-old Ross, "She would give us some jive about all the fruit in it. Healthy, my arse. I remember she made us eat it all the time."
"I think it was just that once. September 11, 2007. Wasn't there some edamame involved?" 18-year-old Sam asks.
"No!" Jane exclaims.
"No way!" Ross concurs. "Just dessert for dinner, pretty much every night of our young lives. I remember it clearly. It lies at the root of all my problems."
Sam states matter-of-factly: "It was very tasty, though. Made from fresh peaches, even. You both liked it enormously."
"I don't remember cobbler or edamame" frets 15-year-old Tom.
"Trust us, Tom," Jane says soothingly. "We remember. Don't try to rationalize it, Sam. It was unconscionable behavior. When I have kids, everything will be organic, free range, hormone and sugar free. Just watch!"
"Ah, yes. I'm beginning to remember all the cobbler now," concedes Sam. "But my problems stem from the fact that she made me grow my hair too long and moussed and gelled and diffused me every day. Not so much from the cobbler. Certainly, though, it couldn't have helped."
The little ingrates: Jane, Ross, and Sam on the first day of school, August 8, 2007.
They don't deserve to share my cobbler.