Living with a 4-year old is ... well ... I can best describe it with a story.
There is a cafeteria at my office and while the food at said cafeteria is pretty much awful, the salad bar is a solid life choice. Thus, I often grab a salad for lunch. On this particular day, the chaos was raining sideways, so I never quite got around to eating much of that day's salad.
No big deal. I would take it home for dinner.
It was sitting in the front seat of the car, happily awaiting my undivided attention, when I picked Mila up from school. Somehow, the child can use her laser beam eyes to penetrate the seat that is supposed to protect her little brain from knowing what I have up front with me. She used her superpower to identify food and promptly began asking about said food.
"Is that a salad, momma? I love salad!" she said in her absolute cutest voice because of course she did.
"Yes, it's a salad," I replied. What was I going to do, lie? I knew she was about to ask to have my salad. That is Chapter 1 of The Guide to Being Four. It starts with "steal your parents' food as often as possible, even if you don't really want it."
Whatever. Once the question was posed, I gave the kid the damn salad. There is more where it came from and whatever. I will not put my life on the line for a salad, and fending off a hungry four-year old is the most life-threatening situation I can think of.
She opened the lid and starting poking around. "Are these olives? I love olives!"
There went the olives. It's too bad they're the best part of any salad.
"What's this?" Mila asked, while holding up a cucumber.
"A cucumber," I replied. Of course.
"I don't like cucumbers in my salad," she retorted.
"Well, that's fortunate since it's MY salad. Can I have it now?" I asked.
::whine::
"What's this?" Mila asked, while holding up a craisin.
"It's a dried cranberry," I replied. "Can I have it?"
"No," Mila answered and then, "I don't like cranberries in salad." She said it while chewing on a cucumber, so.
"What's this?" Mila asked, as if my only reason for having a salad was so I could introduce her to each of the ingredients.
"A sunflower seed," I replied.
And then Mila fell off the deep end into an emotional breakdown because HOW DARE I PUT SUNFLOWER SEEDS IN MY OWN SALAD. There were tears and everything, and they weren't even mine.
In the middle of sobbing, Mila popped a sunflower seed into her mouth. Because isn't that what you do when you're sad that a food exists? You eat it, right? OBVIOUSLY.
"Oh, wait," Mila said between sobbing gasps, "I like sunflower seeds. I forgot."
And then, "I don't want salad for dinner! I want macaroni-n-cheese!" Mila declared just before she tried to launch the salad through the car.
I stopped her in time.
But only becasue I've been living with a 4-year old for a few months now. I kind of know what insanity to expect. (Hint: ALL OF THE INSANITY.)
