In the back of the car, BG is sobbing and wailing, "but I don't want peanut butter and jelly! I won't eat anything! No one will eat anything!"
We pushed back lunch and quiet time, so I'm pretty sure the meltdown is only nominally about the menu.
I breathe out my exasperation and rising rage.
"You're having a hard time, huh, sweetie?"
She immediately quiets. "Being a kid is hard."
I barely suppress a giggle and affect my most sympathetic voice. "I hear you. Being a kid IS hard."
"Being a baby is hard. Being a grown up is hard."
Now I'm grinning. "You are so right, kiddo."
She continues. "Being a dinosaur is hard. Being a robot is hard."
And that about says it all, folks.