(Because my husband is a fussy eater who will only eat 3 types of vegetables — potatoes, peas, and carrots — I am determined to broaden our children’s palates. When young, both of my children would try anything, but in her teens Daughter became a picky eater, refusing to eat most salad vegetables, only a little iceberg lettuce if forced. She wastes food that she says she doesn’t like by leaving it on her plate to be thrown out. Today we go to a cafe where I order soup and she orders a pie.)

Server: “The pie comes with a salad.”

Daughter: “No salad. Only the pie, thanks.”

Me: “No, please keep the salad.” *thinking I would eat it as I am paying for it*

(Her meal comes out with a nice looking salad. My soup takes a bit longer.)

Me: “I’ll just have some of the salad while I’m waiting, seeing as you won’t eat it.”

(We normally have no problem sharing food. My daughter looks at me and silently turns her plate around so the salad is closer to her and starts eating it. I think to myself that maybe I should keep this trick in mind for the future. My soup arrives and after tasting it, I give her a spoonful to try. I am still amused at watching her eat the types of salad things that she usually refuses, such as mixed salad leaves.)

Daughter: *holding up a julienne cucumber piece* “This is nice.”

Me: “That’s cucumber.” *Daughter looks at it and then me, as if I don’t know what I’m talking about* “It’s just cut different to how I usually cut it.”

(I finish my soup; she seems disappointed I didn’t leave her any. She finishes her pie and goes back to the salad, clearly enjoying it. There’s only a few leaves left before she asks me if I want the rest.)

Me: “Not bad for someone who doesn’t like salad.”

Daughter: “I only ate it because it was there.”

(My grandmother is giving me tips on how to deal with kids who are fussy eaters.)

Grandmother: “Sometimes you just need to word something differently. I had one child who didn’t like fried eggs. So I would dish up fried eggs to three kids and an egg poached in fat to one. It never occurred to them that it came out of the same pan.”

(I’m babysitting my nephews. We’re sitting at the table coloring on paper. I like to ask them questions, talk about their day, etc. and I decide to bring up the age-old question:)

Me: “So, [Eldest Nephew], what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Eldest Nephew: “I’m going to be a GIANT bird, and I’m going to take over the whole earth!”

(He’s only six and his life goal is world domination. Yikes!)

(One teacher sends drug dogs to do a search at my high school. I have undiagnosed autism and bipolar disorder. The mere idea of anyone, even a dog, touching my backpack is enough to freak me out for days. My mom is also a teacher there.)

Mom: “Don’t worry. The dogs didn’t actually sniff anything. It was just practice.”

Me: *pulls out my breakfast* “Well, someone licked the cream cheese on my bagel.”

(My mom continued to insist no one had been in the bags. I got another breakfast.)

(I have two children separated by two years and 10 days. We used to have a joint birthday party when they were kids, on the Saturday between their birthdays. In ’93, Daughter was eight and Son was six. When we started planning the party the kids asked for “a Disney Princess party.” Son was, I think, more excited than his sister, so we said yes. When we went to the costume store we started looking at the Prince costumes for Son while Daughter immediately latched on to Ariel because she has red hair, just like her. It was here that a store employee approaches us.)

Employee: “How can I help you?”

Me: “We’re doing a Disney birthday party for my kids.”

Son: “Disney Princess.”

Me: “So we were looking for a Prince costume.”

Son: “No, I don’t want to be a Prince.”

Me & Employee: “What?”

Son: “It’s a Princess party. I don’t want to be a Prince.”

Me: “[Son], what do you want to be then?”

Son: “Belle! She’s the most prettiest.”

Employee: “He can’t be Belle.”

Me: “Hold on. If he wants to be Belle, he can be.”

Employee: “What is wrong with you, dressing your son up like a girl? You probably wanted another daughter, didn’t you?”

(By the time the manager arrived my son was in tears sobbing, “It’s my birthday!” and the employee was yelling at me that I was trying to turn my son gay by forcing him to dress like a Princess. In the end my son got to be Belle. He has a six-year-old daughter of his own now, who has asked for a Disney Princess party for her birthday, which prompted Son to remember this incident and call me to reminisce.)