Dear Headmistress of the Queen's School for Girls Our daughter will not be in for school tomorrow as it's Thanksgiving, and we won the war. Best regards, The Gradys

This past weekend, I took the Critter and her friend to see Ratatouille. A cute movie, but not the point of the story. That morning, she decided that she wanted to wear her princess dress when we went out. Actually, it's the gold dress from Pirates of the Carribean. With the hat. "You sure, Critter?" "Yes, Daddy." "You know, your friend Sophie won't be dressed up." "Dad, it's not about that." "You know what, kiddo? You're right." Is my kid cool, or what?

I was reading about the struggles of parents with kids who are picky eaters and realized, wow, we've really got it easy. Last night we sat down at the table to a mango-jicama-chicken salad thing, with sweet peas and various greens. The Critter took one look at the giant pile of mixed stuff we had shoved into a pita pocket for her, and said "What's that green thing?" "Lamb's Ear" "Mmm! I love lamb's ears!" I don't think she's ever seen it before in her life to know it, but she ate two helpings. Because it was ears, and that's cool. Later on at dinner, we were talking with my Bride's parents about the fresh pita bread we ate in Egypt, and I swear, the Critter's eyes rolled back into her head in ecstasy at the memory and made Homer-like drooling sounds. She's a total foodie, and I love that about her. I was explaining to a colleague our monthly trip down to the Sushi bar at Selfridge's, and that the Critter always manages to choose the most expensive trays from the conveyor belt. The ones with fatty tuna and salmon egg hand rolls and gold-dusted narwhal horns. His response was something like "you can get her to eat sushi? My kids won't eat anything that doesn't come deep-fried, on a stick, or in a Happy Meal box." I explained that when it comes to food, the Critter has very low standards. She'd eat roadkill if we let her. And maybe served it with some ketchup. That doesn't mean that she doesn't randomly reject a certain food. Mostly just to push our buttons. One day, for example, she decided that she didn't like cheese. Let me put that in context: She learned to say "cheese" before she learned to say "daddy". By dinner time, however, cheese was back on the menu. It's not ' til I read stories like this that I realize that other parents have to deal with catering to picky palates on a regular basis. I just have to worry that my kid's not going to eat that dead spider on the sidewalk on a dare.