But this does not mean we wouldn't all benefit by popping a Valium or two.
Oh, alright....just one.
Okay, juuuust on the really bad days.
This is why I believe it may be necessary.
For when we have moment upon moments like this....
The other day my husband brought my 3 (almost 4) year old son in from the cold.
"He might be hungry...and he might want an Eggo."
...and off he went...just like that! Back outside.
Check out the time. It's 5 pm.
And this is where my Type B personality comes in handy.
Instead of saying Oh Hell's to the NO...dinner is in a half hour!!!! I pop, not one but TWO waffles in the toaster.
'Cause my little guy might be feeling a little peckish too.
And who cares that I'm cooking dinner and it'll be ready in .5 hours?
Who needs proper protein and vegetables?
The waffles are whole wheat!
So there I went all toastin' up the waffles, slathering with butter and syrup - just like I always do almost every morning - and....
Voila! I slide the plates on the table in front of my boys eagerly awaiting little bodies.
Finley dove in with gusto as per usual. Child's got an appetite.
Adrian looked like I just slid a heaping, steaming, stinky pile of dog crap in front of him.
The nose went all scrunchy....lip went all quivery.
The tears...OH THE TEARS.
I became entirely baffled as to what was going on with him.
And then I remembered.
Oh yeah. He's three.
Which means I'm basically dealing with a small human being with dramatic and manic tendencies.
"I wanted it wh-wholllle! With no butter and no syyyyrrrruuuuuup!
*Sob, sob. Hiccup, hiccup!*
I try reasoning with him...which...by the way...reasoning?...with a 3 year old....that's an oxymoronic statement if there ever was one.
But okay...because I'm an enabler in my child's dramatic and manic tendencies I throw another one in the toaster.
If only just to get him to stop whining! Dear God! Anything to stop the whinging and crying! My ears were practically bleeding!
I bring it over to him whole and plain. On his Spiderman plate.
I am confident.
No more tears now!
He looks closely...examines really.
He may have even sniffed it.
I watch him just as closely...holding my breath.
It starts again...
"This line!!! I don't like this line!!!"
Are you motherloving kidding me right now!???
Apparently this specific 'line' on this particular waffle was too 'fiery' for his taste. A term he uses when things get a little 'too toasted'.
It was brown. Not black. A perfectly delicious dark golden brown.
And somehow, somewhere, something niggled inside me when I saw that dark golden brown spot as it popped out of the toaster.
I knew he wouldn't like it.
But a small part of me hoped he wouldn't notice it.
So I gave it to him anyway.
And just look where it got me.
When!!!??? When will I ever learn??!!