Why I will never understand 3-year-olds

On the way home from school last night (yes, I still call daycare "school" because it eases my working-mother guilt), we had a conversation about dinner.

Ben: So, what are you making for dinner tonight, Mommy?

Me: Meatballs with pasta and sauce, yummy!

Ben: [Whiny voice going increasingly higher] Awwwwwwwwww but I don't LIKE meatballs!

Logan: Asta?

Me: Yes, Logan. Pasta. Ben, you've always liked meatballs when we've had them before.

Ben: Awwwwww but I don't LIKE meatballs anymore!

Me: Okay. What would you like for dinner?

Ben: Peanut butter and jelly.

Me: Okay.

Logan: Pasta! Meatballs!

We got home a few minutes later and I realized I didn't have any pasta sauce in the house. (I didn't make it to the grocery store last week because I had this crazy back pain that happens every few months. It's bad. Seriously. I'm not even exaggerating! On two occasions on Thursday it took me 5+ minutes to walk the bathroom in my house, and I was in tears along the way.)

Me: Oh... we don't have any pasta sauce. I can't make meatballs and pasta and sauce.

Logan: Meatballs?

Ben: [Whiniest voice ever] Awwwwwwwww but I WANTED MEATBALLS!!!!

Lol. Seriously?