I seriously just had this conversation with my daughter:
"Mom, look, look! I found a caterpillar! Now I can have a pet caterpillar like I've always wanted!"
"Mmhmm... where'd you find it?"
"On your rose bushes"
"Oh man... I'm gonna have to spray those rose bushes.. or the caterpillars will eat all my roses..."
"Moooo-oooooom, nooooooo!!! You can't spray them!!!!! They'll die!!!"
"But honey, they'll eat my roses. I don't really want them to eat my roses."
"But moooother (yes, she calls me "mother" when she's being dramatic), what else would they eat? And what harm did they ever do to you? Why do you want to KILL them???"
And then she proceeds to flop huffily from couch to chair, out to the front porch to check on Jack, Cap and Jill (yes, now there are three of them, AND she named them) and feed them rose petals, and back in again to huff and puff dramatically at me and say,
"I'm getting annoyed with your carelessness about spraying these poor harmless creatures that never did anything to you but eat a few rose petals!!"
Seriously. What in the world am I supposed to do in the face of all that six-year-old drama? I'm thinking about taking her to Hollywood to try out for the newest afternoon soap... Mom, I bet you prayed I'd have a daughter just like this some day, didn't you? Confess now... Well, your revenge is complete, that's for sure. She's now out there giving them a pep talk about turning into baby butterflies. I just don't even know where to start.