An apple (or five) a day

Today I bought five gala apples at Trader Joe's, for 59 cents each. By this time tomorrow, they'll be gone. Oh, not completely gone, not necessarily...one might be lying on the floor by the TV in various stages of munching. I'll find another nibbled to the core under a couch pillow. Still another will be sitting on the table in front of the picture window, baking in the sun right along with PJ. And as I toss the latest victims, the blurred image of a small boy will fly past, a new apple in his hand. Because along with chicken nuggets and any potato chips I might leave lying about (I once hid my chips from Nate; now I hide them from Evan, who's much more persistent), Evan loves apples. Not peeled. Not sliced. Not sauced. Whole. Unaltered.

Peanut butter and jelly has no place in this house. Neither does anything else between bread. Pizza is the quintessential every-kid food, but Evan won't touch it, even though he asks for it. In a desperate attempt to get him to eat something new, I bought him a cheeseburger a few months ago. We went through the Wendy's drive-thru and he suddenly asked for a cheeseburger instead of chicken nuggets. Talk about elation--only a few weeks before, I'd pulled up to the drive-thru window to have the cashier tell me it was going to be a minute on the 5-piece nuggets, and they were free. Surprised, I asked why. Her response? "You come here every other day, and we should have your order ready." I argued with her that I did not come every other day, and I was paying for those nuggets. A dollar fifty-two, just like, well...every other day. In the end, I was so mortified to think that she was calling out for an order of five-nuggets-no-sauce every time she saw a gray Ford Five Hundred pull into the parking lot, I drove out of my way to go to another Wendy's for the next month.

But back to that blessed day when the skies opened and a cheeseburger was requested from the back seat--which, by the way, the same cashier asked, "Really? Are you sure?"--Evan didn't touch it. Even though we'd gone through the entire Now you're positive, right? You understand that if we get a cheeseburger, there will be not a single chicken nugget in the bag? And like usual, he said yes, he understood...and then asked for chicken nuggets all the way home. (It goes back to our weekly Mrs. Curl milkshake/ice cream cone dilemma: Like pizza and tacos and anything else Evan sees advertised--yesterday I was trying to explain what a subway was, and his eyes suddenly lit up with understanding as he said, "Five dollars! Eat fresh!"--it looks oh-so appealing, and he wants it...begs for it...but he won't eat it.) I have now taken chicken nuggets into McAllister's, Noodles & Co., and the Grand Traverse Pie Company. I feel terrible for stashing nuggets in my purse--breaded chicken in a Michael Kors bag is just wrong--but it's the only way I'll get out of eating yet another junior cheeseburger with extra pickles. Mommy needs variety.

So in the meantime, we're raising a kid who likes chicken nuggets from specific establishments. And breadsticks. And bacon. And chips. And toast. And strawberry milk. And cheese cubes. And anything I might be drinking.

And a whole lotta (whole) apples.

My little fruit fly

The casualties