The youngest of my five children, who we will call P for the purposes of this blog, has a few obsessive tendencies. She must put her clothes on in a specific order - panties (and don't call them underwear, you will insult her), pants, shirt, socks - or a melt down will ensue. I'm really not sure if I should just go with it or try to change it, but really she's 3 and the youngest of 5, so yeah I just go with it.
Her chocolate milk must also be made in a certain way. First you pour in the clean milk (that's just milk, but she must distinguish between clean milk and milk that we may have spiked with any medicine she may need at the moment but refuses to take) and then add the powder and stir with a spoon. If she sees you make it another way, she will refuse to drink it. Again, not sure if it's good for her future mental health to let this continue, but yeah, 3, 5, pick your battles.
Except . . . .
When she's not in the kitchen to see how I make her chocolate milk . . . .
I put the powder in first and then the milk . . . . and I laugh a slightly evil laugh.