I'm the crazy one

Recently Benjamin has begun starting a conversation of utter nonsense, insisting that we participate in the conversation, and then turning things on its head by acting like we're crazy for bringing up whatever random thing he brought up in the first place.

For example, we were driving to church last Saturday when Benjamin said, "Today is Valentine's Day! Look at the sky! It's filled with valentine hearts because it's Valentine's Day!"

"Oh, is it?" Andrew said.

"Yes, it is!" Benjamin said.

"Well, Happy Valentine's Day, then!" Andrew said.

"What?" Benjamin asked in a very offended manner. "What are you talking about? Why are you even talking about that, Dad?"

Because he's the crazy one, that's why.

For lunch one of the days this week Benjamin wanted a peanut butter and honey sandwich. No, jam. No, honey. No, jam. No, honey. No, jam. No, honey. No, jam. For sure jam.

I got out the peanut butter and jam.

"Aw, why that?" Benjamin whined. "Where's my honey?"

"You decided on peanut butter and jam, remember?"

"No, I decided on jam and honey. No peanut butter. Just jam and honey."

"I'm not making you a jam and honey sandwich," I said.

Because I'm the crazy one, that's why.

He ended up with a jam and peanut butter sandwich that day, but later on in the week when I was feeling much more generous I made him two half-sandwiches, one with peanut butter and jam and the other with peanut butter and honey (a compromise I will likely forever regret).

Halfway through the meal he picked up the rest of the sandwich and turned his plate upside down.

"Oh, Ben!" I sighed. "No! Don't do that!"

"Why not?" he asked innocently.

"Because now your crumbs are all over the table. I want them to stay on your plate."

Eager to please, Benjamin flipped his plate back over and started whacking it with his sandwich.

"Don't worry, Mom!" he assured me. "I can put more crumbs on it!"

And I'm the crazy one?