The other evening we wandered over to a local restaurant, whose exterior resembles an English manor house in a most disconcerting way, for dinner. Its food was about as convincing as its exterior, but it was, as we thought it might be, �family friendly.� In this case, �family friendly� meant that screaming kids with obscure food preferences were welcome, popcorn was served as soon as we sat down (thus avoiding the problems that generally arise from AJ�s assumption that a meal should be served immediately upon ordering), and grownups (at least those who�d had the foresight to bring earplugs) did not feel as if they had wandered into a playground. Despite his love-hate relationship with mealtime, AJ is rapidly developing a palate that, at least for a three-year-old, might be considered refined. �I wonder if they have fresh lemonade,� he queried as we entered the restaurant, thereby reducing my husband and I to fits of giggling that he did not understand. And indeed, when it came time to order his meal, he who refuses booster seats but can hardly see over the edge of the table asked the waitress, �Do you have any nice, fresh lemonade?� The waitress got a slack-jawed look on her face, at which point I broke in and suggested, �Maybe we should just have some chocolate milk.� My suggestion was met with enthusiasm on one side and relief on the other. Still, the strictness of AJ�s food preferences has me quaking with performance anxiety over Thanksgiving dinner. Of course, I�m pretty sure AJ will turn up his nose at everything on the table, preferring to dine on peanut butter sandwiches (with no crusts, of course) and strawberries sliced the long way (NOT the short way!). �I don�t like turkey, Mommy,� he has warned us. �But what�s a cranberry?�

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