It’s lunch time and I have a picky eater. She’s always been that way; the look she gave me upon her first taste of avocado was as full of resentment as the one she gives me now, at nearly five, when I encourage her to try a bowl of spiralized zucchini.
I open a container with leftover spaghetti from the night before, which she ate enthusiastically with butter and salt. She turns her nose.
How about ramen? Nope.
Grilled cheese? Pass.
We somehow agree on cheese taquitos, and ...