Since Nathan had cereal for a late night snack, when I poured out my bowl of Raisin Bran Crunch this morning, it was pretty scant. As luck would have it, Rebecca, who was back for a Breakfast the Sequel cup of yogurt, looked at my paltry serving of RBC and asked, "Can I have a bite?" I told her no, because she already had her breakfast and now was rockin' the seconds. As I poured the milk, she asked again, saying, "But I like that kind. Can I please have a bite?" Again, I told her no. I put the milk away and pulled out my stool to sit down. She persisted, saying, "I want a bite of yours, Mom. You took the rest of it and I wanted some." Exasperated, I firmly and loudly (but not yet crossing the border into Yell-country) responded, "NO! This is my cereal, and it is what I am having for breakfast. You had your own breakfast." She then burst into tears. After a few seconds, I asked, "Why are you crying?" Her reply was, "Because I don't like you anymore." Bummer.
Now, 20 minutes later she is sitting in my lap, talking nonstop, and kissing me on the cheek every 15 seconds, and instructing me to tell her Thank You every time. I think she likes me again, because she just told me, cupping my chin in her hand, "You're the cutiest-ootest one, Mom."
Sidenote: Cassidy is currently reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Rebecca just told me the name of Cassie's book is the green I Will Pants book.
Three year olds are a trip.
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