Yesterday I was driving the Oldest home from piano lesson and he was talking smack. Apparently he thinks that I am "picky" because I pick the pepperoni off my pizza----or soak the grease up with a napkin before consuming.
So then I went through a complete and full "tape recording session" of the Oldest and all the things picky he has ever said about his food. Of course, this recount was blessed with much acting and facial expression:
"This pizza has too much sauce on it!"
"Do these red peppers taste like green ones?"
"You're putting ketchup in the taco meat!!!"
me: "I always put ketchup in the taco meat."
him: "Oh. Well don't let me see it!"
So I said, "Did you know that BBQ sauce has ketchup in it?"
"I can't drink that juice. It looks too red---like ketchup."
My son tried to hold in his laughter because it really was quite a sight to see me acting out all of these true phrases and lines. I said a billion more than this, but I don't wish to bore you. In fact, I said so many, I was pleased with myself for remembering them all. It was like I held long grudges and let them all free in this one long soliloquy of silliness.
"I have a tape recorder in my throat," I said with wide eyes.
"You do not!" said my son, who is almost twelve and because of his autism believes anything.
"Yes! And my button to press 'play' is under my arm."
"So is it just playing word for word everything that I have ever said?"
"I see a pattern," I looked at him concerned.
"You are afraid of things---food that is red."
"Why, yes it is true."
I named them.
I said, "You even like green apples instead of red ones."
He said, "Well I love apples, I just don't like to eat them."
"I'm blogging that."
"But I will be shamed for life!"