Owen has discovered the art of exaggerated pessimism. If things are not going his way, the glass will not only be viewed as half-empty, it will be made from plastic that's full of BPA and have a dead bug floating in its lukewarm water.
We needed to run errands yesterday morning, and I enticed Owen with a promised lunch at Chick-fil-A, which he was all for until he realized it meant he'd have to change out of his pajamas. As I wrestled him into a pair of jeans, he dove into this monologue (picture lots of open-palm hand waving and over-enunciating):
And ACTually, I don't EVEN like chicken nuggets anyway. I don't like Chick-fil-A. ACTually, I don't EVEN like eating anymore. And I don't EVEN want to wear blue jeans. I hate tennis shoes.
And when he ran out of relevant things to complain about, he just started free-styling.
I don't EVEN like this house anymore. And ACTually, I don't like walls. I don't EVEN like ceilings. I hate this carpet...
I had to agree with him on that last point. Hardwoods would have been a much more attractive option for the upstairs.