The other night, I made dinner. I usually try to separate Jake's food, even when I put it on a "big boy" plate (no dividers). I put mandarin oranges on, then added a roll.
"Hey!" I hear. "That's mean, Mommy!"
"What? You asked for a roll," I say, puzzled.
"But it's touching my oranges and will get it all wet. That's really mean."
"Oh, sorry." What else could I say
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