To call my oldest child a picky eater is an insult to picky eaters everywhere. Even foods that he actually likes are not immune to his scrutiny. Take, for example, this conversation at dinner tonight:
Me: Eat your cucumber slices.
11: I don't want them.
Me: This is one of the few remaining vegetables on the list of Things You Will Eat. So eat them.
11: But...
Me: But what? What's wrong?
11: Well, I don't like the slices from the top.
(Dan and I just looked at each other with blank expressions.)
Me: The top?
11: Right. I don't like the tops.
Me: (thinking) Well, those aren't slices from the top; they're from the bottom.
11: Hmm. Really? (pause) Well, I meant I don't like the bottom parts.
Me: !! Are you kidding me? It's the same thing!
11: No, it's not. I only like the slices from the middle.
Me: How can you tell the difference?
11: The ones in the middle are bigger and they have more seeds.
Me: Well I see lots of seeds in there. Just eat them.
11: (Whining) No. They're just too...round.
Me: Are you freakin' kidding me?! Too round?
Dan: Honey, could you please try to get the rectangular cucumbers next time?
I give up.
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