Pop, Six, Squish, Uh-uh, Cicero, Lipschitz...

Part IV: Uh-uh

***

Pippin hoisted his young son into his highchair. "There we go," he smiled as he fixed Faramir into his place and his small lad clapped happily.

"Fwa! Fwa!" Faramir gurgled, slapping his small fat hands on the table top.

"I know. I know, you’re hungry," Pippin said, his voice coming out from inside the pantry. "I’m just getting your stuff," he came out, a jar of canned applesauce in one hand, and a bowl of dried oats in the others.

Coming to sit at the table, Pippin yawned, still rubbing the sleep from his own eyes, even though the hour was quite into the day already. Since Diamond had gone to visit her relations in the North Country, he had been indulging himself by sleeping and staying up a bit (or rather, a lot) late. He could hear Merry’s wife Estella’s sweet song outside as she hung the laundry out to dry, her lovely melody sailing in the open windows along with the bright spring sunshine.

Merry had gone off earlier that morning for business at Brandy Hall, so he was free from the pestering of both his older cousin and his wife for the day, and smiled to his son who looked at the jar of applesauce in eager anticipation.

"Alright, alright," he laughed, and reached for the can, twisting open the top and spooning out some of the sweet confection into a bowl. Setting it aside, he poured out the dried oats into a smaller bowl as well.

Faramir reached forward with his tiny hands, trying to grab at the bowls, and Pippin laughed again. "You really are hungry, aren’t you? You little sprout," and Pippin ruffled his son’s hair.

Faramir merely blinked, green eyes still fixed on the applesauce. "Alright," announced Pippin, turning back to the food. "Now how was I supposed to feed you this?" he mused aloud, looking to the two bowls in front of him. "You’re supposed to eat both?" Pippin looked back to Faramir, who didn’t really appear as if he was going to pipe up with an answer, and then back to the both foods and shrugged, picking up a spoon. "Well, I guess I’ll feed you both, then."

Holding to Faramir’s mouth a spoonful of applesauce, the little tyke’s eyes lit up and he gobbled it off the spoon, happily licking his lips and already opening his small mouth for more.

"Alright, now a spoonful of oats," Pippin said, watching as his son excitedly wolfed down the food. But then, realizing the stuff was not apples at all, but something dry and salty, Faramir made a face of disgust and proceeded to spit the oats out and all over himself.

"Farry," Pippin admonished, and sighed. He took a spoonful of the apples and held it to his son’s lips. Faramir frowned, turning his face away from the dreaded substance. "No, no," Pippin assured, "This is the good stuff," and pushed the spoon closer.

Testing the offered food with his tongue, Faramir was delighted to find that it was indeed the apples and gulped it up, cooing happily, "Yum!"

"Now, you have to have some oats," Pippin said, taking another spoonful of the oats and offering it, which Faramir delightedly devoured, thinking he was again being extended the delicious sweetness of cinnamon apples and sugar.

"Yuk!" Faramir protested, getting instead of the treat the awful dry saltiness of the bland flaky oats. "Uh-uh!" he announced unhappily, slapping his small hands on the table in dissent.

"I’m sorry!" Pippin said, "But you can’t just eat sweets for breakfast." He remembered a time when his elders used to say the same thing to him, and grinned inwardly as he stuffed another flaky strawberry with honey-laced pastry into his mouth from his own breakfast (or luncheon rather) – they weren’t here to say it now though. Pippin chuckled, but it dissipated upon the malcontent of his son’s expression as Faramir looked up at him petulantly. "I know, I hated eating the ‘right’ stuff too," Pippin sympathized and took another spoonful of the apples to amend the unfairness of a healthy diet. "Here," he offered.

Faramir eyed the extended food skeptically and then looked up at his father the same way.

"What!" Pippin said, "It’s good, I promise."

Seeming to relent, Faramir opened his mouth and was pleased to find it was apples, not oats, and smiled.

"See?" Pippin took more oats and handed it to him, "Now you have to eat these too."

Faramir opened his mouth and tasted it a bit, but he would not be fooled this time, and as soon as he tasted the dry menace he shouted, "Uh-uh!" and hit the spoon with his hand crankily.

"Hey, now!" Pippin declared, picking it up off the ground. "That wasn’t very nice. Think of how the oats must feel." Faramir frowned. "Come on," Pippin cajoled, but to no avail. Faramir would not open his mouth. "Faramir," Pippin said reproachfully, but the lad would not yield. "Faramir Took this is your father speaking: eat your oats." Pippin tried his strictest tone (which was pathetically unconvincing) and sighed.

"Faramir. Eat them." Faramir would not. Pippin shoved the spoon closer, but Faramir did nothing more than fling it away, and the small silver spoon ended up hitting Pippin in the face. Rubbing his forehead as he picked the utensil up off the ground again, he looked to his son indignantly – but Faramir’s set gaze would not budge from its pettish expression.

Decidedly frightened, Pippin moved his chair back slowly from the disconcerted baby.

He turned the spoon to himself, eyeing the bran, "It doesn’t look that bad," he said, glancing to his son, who Pippin thought gave him a look that practically said: Well, you try it then!

Pippin turned his nose up haughtily, "Very well then, I will," and he spooned the oats into his mouth. "Mmmm...." Pippin began, trying to crunch down on the dry, salty roughage. But even Pippin could not pretend to enjoy the disgusting flavor and his face crumpled in disgust. He swallowed quickly to rid of the horrid taste. "Ugh!" he declared, "How could anyone make you eat that," he said, almost gagging to rid of the awful taste.

He looked back to Faramir who was looking terribly smug, and sighed. "Alright, you win." He pushed aside the oats.

After feeding Faramir the rest of the applesauce, he put his son down for a rest and taking his tea outside, leaned on the cool stone wall watching Estella hang the laundry.

"Did you give Faramir his meal?" she asked, her dark hair blowing in the clean warm breeze.

"I did, but he really didn’t like it," he said, sipping his drink.

"That’s funny," she commented, looking over to him. "Normally he loves oats and apples when Diamond and I feed him."

"Well, he loved the apples, just not the oats," Pippin frowned, "I’ve no idea how you two have the heart to feed him those things," he shuddered, "Disgusting."

Estella looked over.

Pippin looked up from his drink. "What?"

"Pippin, you didn’t feed Faramir the oats and the apples separately, did you?"

Pippin stammered, "Uhh..." He glanced sidelong guiltily, but, "‘Course not," he assured. "Why?"

"Oh," Estella said, her delicate brows knitted a bit and she rubbed her hands off on her apron, "Well, I was just wondering if you knew you were supposed to mix them together."