One time when B. pointed to the grapes in the fridge, L. took them out, plucked them off the stem and handed them to him — at which point he started screaming. He threw himself on the ground, flailing in misery. L. was baffled. He had clearly pointed to the grapes. What had she misunderstood? Why were his tantrums so frustratingly arbitrary?
Suddenly, B. pleaded: “Tree! Tree!” It hit her: He wanted the grapes still attached to the stem. He wanted to pull them off himself! “It was like, Oh, my god, how many times have I thought his tantrums were random, when they weren’t random at all?