Living With the Man Child

I can't seem to figure my son out lately. He, is, uhhhh, just a little weird in my opinion.

He's been in the habit of asking to do something, or have something, and when we tell him he can do it, he will burst out in tears or a fit and say that we won't let him do it. Case in point - he wanted to go sleep over at his Grandma's house, and when we told him that he could go and to get his stuff together, he threw a fit for an hour because we wouldn't let him go... Just a tad emotional I'd say. (He was also very tired, but seriously?...)
He also has a thing for band aids. I have heard about kids like this. The parents talk about having to buy tons and tons of band aids, and the kids get them out all of the time and wear them, and they leave the wrappers every where, and they use band aids when they don't even have any reason to. I didn't have one of those kids. Until now.
My girls don't like band aids. I think Aubrie associated getting a band aid with going to the doctor and getting shots. She would seriously freak out if you tried to put a band aid on her. At one point I'd gotten her to where she'd wear band aids, and then some very naughty kid took her band aid off and taped her eye shut with it. I don't suppose you'd want to wear a band aid either if you'd had that many bad experiences with them. I gave up after that. Aria followed right behind her big sister. If Aubrie was terrified of band aids, then Aria wasn't going to risk it. So, in my house, Girls = no band aids (pretty much).
My son, however, can't recover from anything, real or imagined, without the wonderful aid of a band aid. I work with blood all day, five days a week. It's pretty cool stuff, and God made your blood to where it knows how to clean out your owies, and then make it's own cool band aid. Just not good enough for my son. If he so much as gets a pin prick sized scratch he's got to have a band aid for at least a week. I can not believe the miracles that band aids can do with this kid. He can be wailing, tears streaming down his face, in agony - and you put a band aid on him, and his chances for survival increase dramatically.
Bud is big and tough at home. He's strong. He can do anything. He doesn't need his Mom. He doesn't need his Dad. He won't cry. Apparently these super powers have something to do with the house, because, once we leave, it's a whole different story.
Then, there's his food. He went through a phase where it seemed like all he would eat was string cheese. Then it was macaroni and cheese. Quesadillas. Peanut butter (no jelly) sandwiches. Cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches. And finally, now, he's upgraded to cheese, mayo, & lunch meat sandwiches. I was going to send him one of those big pretzels with nacho cheese for lunch, but he caught me putting that together.... and that wasn't good. So, I asked him what he wanted, and he said he wanted a sandwich. So, I made a peanut butter sandwich, and I even used the dinosaur sandwich cutter to cut the crust off of the bread. He must have sharp senses when it comes to his lunch because when he came and checked on it later, he asked me if I made a peanut butter sandwich.... I said "Yes." and he wailed back, "Really Mom?! Did you really?" Death by peanut butter sandwich. Really.

Boys, I can't figure them out!