Anthropomorphism in the Dining Room

I made a lovely dinner tonight. Pasta with vegetables and shrimp- really, quite delicious. Everyone was excited about it, and Small One could not WAIT to eat it...until she was actually in her chair with a plate of it in front of her.
Her dad sat down next to her. "Eat your yummy food," he cajoled, "Mommy made it for you! Do you need help?"

"NO!" she yelled, "You not needa help me, Daddy! MOMMY needa help me!"

Because dinner was late, because we were tired and cranky, because we didn't wish to have conflict with our meal, the Man and I switched places.

"Of course I'll help you, Sweetie!" I said brightly. I held out a forkful of tomato.

She eyed me suspiciously. "What's that?" she asked.

"A tomato."

"NO, Mommy, what's his NAME?"

I said: "Grape."

Yup. Because it was a grape tomato. She ate it. And the Man said "Grape? Because calling a tomato 'grape' is going to clear up any confusion?"

I picked up a mushroom with her fork.

"What's his name?" she asked.

"Bob Johnson." I said, and shot the Man a look.

The next shrimp? Clarice Whittaker.

I was amazed that she was perfectly delighted to eat all these things, just so long as she knew their names first. What's up with that? I started getting tired, though, and running out of names. When she asked the broccoli's name I just said "Stuart."

"Eat Stuart," the Man said, "and you can get down."

You have to give us this- our world may be nonsensical, but at least we make a pretty good team.