A Matter of Taste

In some ways, Louis may be like many 3-year-old boys. He likes vehicles, singing, and helping his Baba. In other ways, he is very much himself. He makes up his own words, names the family cars "Fred" and "Plack," and marvels at the second hand on the clock.

Only Louis--and maybe his buddy Cat in the Hat--could explain why he wanted to wear his shirt backwards the other day.

Come to think of it, the Cat in the Hat might even be the one responsible. The shirt was on right at the beginning of nap; it was backwards when he got up. Lately, the Cat and the Puppydog have been trying to interfere with naptime. The other day as Grandma was putting Louis down for a nap, she said, "Remind your friends what the rules are." Louis very seriously said, "No meowing, no barking, no talking." Knowing the rules is one thing. Enforcing them in a crib full of easily excitable stuffed friends is another.

 

Louis's different ideas extend to food. One morning when he begged for Worcestshire sauce for breakfast, I only relented when he promised not to put it on his cereal. We struck a deal and he enthusiastically enjoyed both--separately.

 

Nonetheless, Louis still wonders why he has to put the kidney beans on the pizza himself...

 

...especially when his father brings oddities such as green fortune cookies home.

 

As I have mentioned before, Louis also has his own view on baked goods. He likes to make them. He likes to see them. He even likes to touch them. He just doesn't want to eat them.

He's more of an alphabet soup boy.

So this morning when I was making cupcakes for a gathering of boys adopted from China and their families, I wasn't surprised that Louis had a firm opinion on which kind we should make: "Chocolate," he said, with absolute certainty.

Then, for the first time in his almost 15 months home, when presented with a frosting-covered beater, our adventurous eater accepted my offer--with his Southern-accent-tinted "yeah." (And no, we have no idea how he has picked up a Southern accent.)

Not only did he take the beater.

He licked and licked and licked and enjoyed it.

Was it as good as kidney-bean pizza? Or pickles for breakfast--alongside cottage cheese and Mandarin oranges?

 

Maybe not, but I decided not to ask. I didn't want to give our boy any ideas.