John and I had one of our periodic we-will-not-put-up-with-our-kids'-picking-eating-a-minute-longer fits this week. Things had slipped to the point that they each were eating only one fruit: David--raisins, Rose--apples.

In our family, you always get dessert if you want it, but you always eat fruit course before dessert. So, we had some bargaining power. We made a new rule: if you wanted dessert, you had to eat the fruit we picked. (Everyone start your evil cackling and pick the most obnoxious fruit you can think of.)

Last night was smooth sailing. We let Rose have apple again, and we reintroduced bananas into David's diet, a previous staple. Tonight, however, was oranges. Neither had ever eaten an orange. Really. They've both had orange juice and liked it, but a real orange with flesh and pith and juice squirting everywhere--well, that's a different creature.

John did let them choose between mandarins and navel oranges. Then there was much drama and nose plugging and large gulps of water between bites. For oranges. Rose made it through rather quickly; David I wasn't sure was going to survive, and there was homemade (by him) chocolate chip banana bread on the other side. He finally let me plug his nose and got the last gulp down through his tears. At which point I said (with just a twinge of sarcasm), let's do this again tomorrow. And he said cheerfully, yes, let's, but with another new fruit!