Yep, rice cakes. I am continually floored by the things that "matter" to a toddler. What things have to be just so seems to be random and with little logic. But that's just because I can't read their minds, I'm sure they would tell me.
Both of my kids have utter disdain for a rice cake that is not whole. Telling them that the two pieces taste the same apart as they did together, is just insulting to them.
Evan seems to perhaps be getting a little better about this, but I don't want to count those chickens. This afternoon, I gave Amelie a rice cake upon request. I made *sure* that it was a whole one. (I've got a collection of pieces collecting for the days in which I don't have as much of an emotional need for carbs and I can stomach rice cakes). But then, she broke her rice cake in half, by accident of course. She handed the pieces back to me. When I gave them back to her, she knelt down, knees bent and wailed, "Rice CAKE!" Obviously I am too dense to realize it was no LONGER a rice cake.
I suppose I should not begrudge my children their little idiosyncratic ways. I used to line up my M&M's on my desk at my summer telemarketing job by color. My supervisor called everyone in to look at them. At least I don't do that to my kids. And when I take the silverware out of the dishwasher, I often curse myself for not loading the last load, because the various utensils are not grouped together in such a way that it is quicker and easier to sort them.
This is the first story I've recorded that I wonder if my kids will be mortified to read, knowing this blog was public until they were old enough to insist I take it down, and stop blabbing about them to the world. I hope not. I hope I teach them to love themselves enough that they can love themselves with all their foibles, not care what anyone else thinks, and be able to laugh at themselves.