Evan loves chicken. I don't just mean he will polish off a leg when I cook chicken for dinner. I mean, he asks for it three meals a day. Today we went on a picnic with my moms group. I made a pasta salad full of fresh vegetables (carrots, zucchini, peas, corn, tomatoes). After Evan had played for a while, we were ready to have lunch. This is the conversation that ensued.
"Okay, Evan. Let's have some lunch," I said.
Evan looked at me and said, "Balk, balk, balk."
I tried to change the subject. "We are having noodles today." Evan has started saying the word noodle, so I was hoping he'd get on that track. No luck.
He repeated, "Balk, balk, balk."
"I don't have any chicken. I have noodles. Yum, noodles."
"Balk, balk, balk."
"Here, Evan, try a noodle."
"Balk, balk, balk."
"Do you want to try a carrot?"
"Balk, balk, balk."
"Here is a pea. Look, it is like a ball."
"Balk, balk, balk."
We eventually packed it up and went home. Evan never touched the pasta salad I made. Or the colorful array of veggies. I decided we better have chicken for dinner. As I was putting it in the oven, Evan saw the raw chicken and started balking, then crying because I wouldn't give him any. It took an agonizing 40 minutes before the chicken was done, but then Evan ate an entire leg and thigh and part of my chicken. I am just going to start keeping chicken on hand for emergencies like this. None of the parenting books prepared me for this.
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