Gaslighting

Have you ever seen the movie "Gaslight"? The one where Charles Boyer psychologically tortures his wife, played by Ingrid Bergman, by manipulating her into believing something other than the truth? It's just like that at our house except I think it's the children doing the gaslighting:

While I was giving Sophie a bath last night I was asking questions about her day. How was school? Did you go to the park today? Oh, and by the way, how was the cold slice of leftover pizza I sent for lunch? (She enjoyed it and I was pleased.)

"Tomorrow you'll have peanut--I mean a jelly sandwich."
"No, I'll take peanut butter tomorrow, mom."

Did you hear the rotation of the earth screeching to a halt? Did you hear a loud thunderous boom or feel tectonic plates shift? Because, people, this is a child who'd rather chew glass than eat something so vile, so disgusting as peanut butter.

I had my suspicions and I wasn't falling for it. "But you don't even like peanut butter."

"Yes I do." (See! I told you they're gaslighting me!)

"No, you hate it, remember?"

"No, I'll have it. Really, I will!"

"How about half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

"How about you packing me a whole peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

So, I did what any other mother would do. I agreed, didn't bring it up again and carefully constructed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich using just a little PB and the normal amount of J. I slapped the halves together, put it in her favorite sandwich keeper and crossed my fingers.