Later, G made me earn my Parenting in Public Badge.
At Mellow Mushroom, I cut his cheese pizza into bite-sized pieces at his request. He informed me that he did not eat "strings". I explained that the strings were actually cheese, but he did not believe me. Then he suggested that the some of the pieces were not small enough. After I cut each big piece into smaller pieces and de-stringed every morsel, he lost himself in an extravagant meltdown. Apparently another slice of pizza would not suffice. I was to magically reconstruct the original piece then cut it the specifications that were in his mind. Luckily we were in a party of about twenty people and we were seated on the patio. I picked him up and swayed until cake was served. Hey, we were out of town. This was not the time for battles.
Red did not agree.
Breakfasts were fine at the hotel. Most meals eaten where our large family gathered, however, entailed crocodile tears, shrieking demands which I could not decipher, and some time separated from the family. He did not want pizza, sliced or cut up, sitting next to Uncle Hans nor near the adorable Baby Ruby. He did decide to eat some yogurt. He also ate some cake (big surprise).
Peanut butter and jelly on a roll? It was awesome until I cut it exactly how Grandma had cut it the day before. He lost it when I "broke the bread"--which I only learned after I'd calmed him down after a twenty minute time-out in the "Royal Bedroom" at Aunt Hildie's. I derma-bonded the risen crust to the bread inside with jelly and then he consumed it.
What's the best part about these fights? First, they keep me on my toes. Second, they make me really appreciate my family. They ignored G when he threw his fits, then carried on when he returned. Years ago, I'd worry if others were judging me. They've all been through this many times before, and they love me and G just the same. They know he isn't a full-fledged brat; he's just testing...and losing, if we we're keeping score.