I think it's safe to say that toddlers are the most neurotic creatures on the face of the Earth. One minute they're giggling with glee, the next they are pounding their heads on the floor in a fit of despair because the crayon you handed them is not yellow enough. One day they want nothing more than to wear that pretty flower dress all.the.time (even boys), the next they refuse to wear any clothes. But the biggest source of toddler neurosis? Food.

Alexis is no exception. Sure, she's a good eater. She lurves herself some fruits and vegetables and generally will try anything. But, she has a rule. No mixing. Period. See, while she loves strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries, if I go and get all domestic on her behind and mix them together into a Wondrous! Magical! Fruit Salad! she won't eat it. She can WATCH ME pick the berries apart and place them into separate piles and will then eat them, though. She doesn't care if her food touches (a generally accepted variety of neurosis), she just doesn't like things that have multiple ingredients. She won't user her own little princess hands to pick them apart either. That's apparently my job.

Think about that for a moment. Does it seem like it might be a pain in the tooshie? IT IS.

As a perfect example of her food neurosis, I present Exhibits A through whatever the heck letter we end up at. Yesterday I thought I would be SuperMommy and make s'mores. I am a s'mores master. It is the one useful skill I acquired after attending Girl Scout camp every summer for about ten years. I know how to burn sugar just right so it is gooey and warm and yet slightly crispy and beautimous. My s'mores would make Emeril cry with glee as he shouted, "THEY DON'T NEED ANY BAM!" from the rooftops. They.are.yummers.

So, I handed the kid a perfectly concocted s'more, carefully adjusted to more readily fit in a toddler-sized mouth. She stared at it.

She did NOT put it in her mouth. No way, no how. As she was staring at the three-headed s'more, she realized she had gotten some marshmallow on her hand.

Score! A single ingredient!

"More shmalloo, please!"

I caved. I handed her a virgin marshmallow. One that had not experienced maximum Zen with my little cooking utensils.

She was happy.

Then she noticed the chocolate bar sitting on the table. "Shocklit, please!"

Polite children in this house are generally rewarded. I handed her a piece of chocolate.

It was goooooood.

She decided to chase the chocolate with another marshmallow. It was all fine and dandy until she pulled that marshmallow out of her mouth.

And noticed chocolate on it.

Alert! Alert! We have multiple ingredients! "MOMMY, CLEAN IT!" I wish I were kidding.

There was a lecture at this point. I felt it was my duty as a professional connoissuer of chocolate-covered marshmallows to inform her that one should celebrate when those two great tastes come together. CELEBRATE! Throw a party. Invite the mayor. Shoot off fireworks. It is a grand occasion when chocolate and marshmallow can be enjoyed simultaneously.

She wasn't buying it.

I gave her a new CLEAN marshmallow. When we did a lather, rinse, repeat of the chocolate on the marshmallow debacle, I quit. I handed her some glow-in-the-dark ridiculously disgusting looking applesauce (which probably contains multiple ingredients, but apparently they fly under the Toddler radar). She shoveled it into her mouth.

And all was right in her world.

From this day forth, I will use this series of photos as my reminder as to why I do not share my s'mores making skills with the world.

And to think, all I really wanted was to get a "one year later" version of this photo which was (obviously) taken before the neurosis fully set in: