So. So the sandwich was not a success. So he cried when faced with it. So.
I took it hard, guys, I did. I was all, "Oh, so I guess it's going to be a cold cuts kind of youth, eh, Oliver? Eh, three-year-old Oliver who's not into my kalamata-f--kin'-olive-f--ckin'--avocado-with-gourmet-other-sh-it-thrown-in-no-meticulously-placed-just-so-sandwich?"
I was all that to myself. To him, I said, "Sorry you didn't like that sandwich, bud."
And he was all, "It's ok, mom. But why did you do it?"
And I was like, "Because I love you and food is emotional, Oliver."
And he was like, "Girls have vaginas, mom."
And I was like, "High-five it, Oliver."
So we got through it, obviously.
Anyway, I felt a wee defeated but I won't stay down, god_ammit. (I love the blank spaces for politesse, btw). I will up the ante. I whipped up an orzo, asparagus (tip), tomato, carrot, lemon thyme soup. Try to resist that, Mr. Man. Just try.