On Sunday, I walked a tired, whiny four-year-old down to the beach during our weekend vacation while listening to her complain about wanting to go back to the hotel room. I knew that she didn’t really want to go back to the room. She was mimicking her brother, who had just spent the last 20 minutes trying to get me to take him back there. (Please don’t think I tortured my children with endless beach. It was only 10am. The Boy had a thirty minute period in which he could not convince anyone to do exactly what he wanted to do, and that made him grouchy.) He had finally given up and went back to having fun and then she started in as we walked down the ramp to the beach. Here’s a part of the conversation, minus a good chunk of the whine:
Girl: I want to go back to the room. I want to go back to the room. I want to go back to the room!
Me: Oh, come on. We’re at the beach! Look around. It’s beautiful!
Girl [With her most scrunched-up nose and furious eyes]: There is NOTHING beautiful around here except ME!
And then we went to play in the sand.