Last night for dinner, my wife made some ground beef patties for my daughter. In our never-ending quest to find things Christina will eat, she cooked the patties and told her they were "burger steaks." Steak is the one thing she'll always eat.
I was given some tuna casserole thingy, put together quickly before Cindy darted off to work.
"Yay!" she said. "I love burger steaks."
"They look yummy," I volunteered.
"You can have one," she offered.
"That's okay, sweetheart," I said. "Mommy made me something else."
"No, but you can have one," she insisted, caringly. "There's too many for me!"
"Thank you honey," I said, "but I'm already getting full."
"What about you take one for lunch tomorrow," she said, with the air and manner of one who's just discovered the perfect compromise. "You can put one in a bag, like a sandwich, you close it up, you put it in the fridge - because you have to eat at work! Then when you get up in the morning, you put it in the blue lunchbag and you take it to work!" She finalized this point with her arms spread out and both her palms pointing upwards, and gave me one of those "you get it?" looks, like an MIT professor might do after explaining a complicated mathematical formula to his students.
"Why, that sounds like a spendid idea!" I told her.
She flashed me a satisfied smile from ear to ear and went back to her food.
Me, I sat there and marveled at the thought of my 4 year old daughter mothering me at such a tender age.