Christopher is three and occasionally moody (as anyone who has ever parented a three year old knows, “occasionally” equals “hourly”). This morning I gave him pineapple chunks instead of pineapple rings, so naturally he announced that he wasn’t going to talk to me anymore.
“Ok, I respect that.”
Three glorious minutes of silence later, he said: “I’m never talking to you AGAIN.”
“I totally understand.”
He wiggled in his chair with agony, desperate to talk, but his pineapple chunk anger was too strong. Two more minutes flew by. “I’m only going to talk to my friends and my Emmy.”
“Ok, got it.”
Finally, 60 seconds later he was too weak with desire to talk.
“I’m just going to tell you one thing, and then I’m done talking forever.”
“Oh, ok. What is it baby?”
“I like milk.”
“Yes, me too. Milk is delicious.”
Now he’s dancing around the kitchen, toast in hand, telling me endless, rambling stories…