Jorge has some very strong opinions about what is his and it's pretty straightforward: EVERYTHING. If he's looked at it, touched it, smelled it, or thought about it for more than a few minutes that counts as calling dibs for life.
Case in point:
The other night at dinner each kid had a slice of grilled marinated zucchini to try. Nearing the end of dinner Katie handed hers to Rob saying she had given it the required big-girl try and did not like it. Immediately Jorge -- who had not touched his yet but usually likes it -- turned his over to me insisting he, too, had tried it and disliked it. I tried twice to get him to take "another" bite but he refused saying he did not want it and had already had a bite, so I popped it into my mouth.
Immediately my mistake was clear. A look of horrified shock came across Jorge's face. "My cini! My cini! No mommy's mouth!" Wailing and general tantrum-ing ensued as he demanded that I retrieve it--whole and unblemished--and return it to him; a bit of a challenge considering I'd already started chewing. No, another slice from the serving dish would not suffice. No, none of the slices from anyone else's plates could replace it. No, he will not admit to any charges related to him indicating he did not want it. Nothing in the world meant more to him than that slice of 'cini.
Evidence the second:
One day while he was wailing about some trumped up charges against someone else in the house I attempted to help Jorge calm down. I sat him on my lap and asked him to take some breaths and blow up an imaginary balloon to hold all those whineys so we could release it outside. Once the "balloon" was full and he'd blown all of the whiney-s out we walked to the window and I let it go. Wrong move mom. Jorge wanted to let it go. Oh the howling. I quickly retrieved the balloon (luckily imaginary whiney-filled balloons don't float very high) and offered it to him but the rest of the day involved reminding mommy that Jorge wanted to let go of the balloon. "Not mommy let go balloon. Jorgie let go balloon. Jorgie's balloon."
Right up there with eating imaginary rhubarb. (And that was when Katie was only about 2 months older than Jorge is now, so I guess we're on track.)
Evidence the third:
Another day, another wailing fit about something. As I attempted to help him calm down I brushed the crocodile tears off of his cheeks. Wrong move mom. "No wipe Jorge's tears! Put my tears back! Put them back! My tears!"
This part only lasts a few more years, right?