Like many parents, I’ve adopted the weird tradition of expressing my affection toward my children in cannibalistic terms. When Griffin and Maggie were babies, I regularly described them as “delicious” or “so cute I could eat you.” As I write this, we impatiently await the arrival of our third child, who will no doubt receive the same dubious treatment.
These days, it’s more of a faux threat that I toss out when we’re playing tickle games or otherwise rough-housing. I’m a hungry troll! I’m going to eat your belly button! (My beard is an astoundingly effective tickler.)
This morning, while chasing Maggie around the loft, she suddenly put our her hand and yelled, “STOP! Persons don’t eat persons.”
I burst out laughing, as did she, and I pressed her further. “What about delicious little toes?”
“No!”
“Crunchy elbows??”
“No!”
“Angel hair salad???”
“No! Persons do not eat persons. Period!”
I was simultaneously amused by the whole interchange and pleased that she’s properly internalized the cannibalism taboo. And then she continued, doubling down on the weirdness factor.
“Because we have brains.”
“What?”
“Persons have brains. Up here,” tapping her head.
“Ok. So, I shouldn’t eat people because they have brains?”
“Yes.”
Now that that was settled, I prepared to tackle her for some more tickling, but she added, “And when you die you turn into a plant.”
“Um. Wait, what?”
Grinning with increasing excitement, she explained, “Daddy, when you die some day, you will grow into a plant. Or a bush. Or a flower! Or a TREE!” She was very pleased with the thought that I will be a tree.
There is nothing cooler than a 4 ½-year-old brain.
