After nearly a month of wanting nothing for breakfast other than yogurt, my son has suddenly changed his mind. For the last week and a half breakfast has been a struggle. He doesn’t want any of the “regular” offerings … yogurt, cereal, bagel, waffle, cottage cheese & fruit. When asked what he wants, his answer is always “something else”. What something else? Can we get a bit more specific, please?

This morning after saying no to all of the options in the house, he finally opted for the yogurt. Great, we have a decision. Thank God. To the refrigerator I head, feeling a bit of relief mixed with satisfaction that we were able to come to a decision within about three minutes this morning. A record of late. I open the fridge, pull out the yogurt, and my heart skips a beat. It’s unusually light in weight. Are we empty? Yep … and yes, the empty is there – in all it’s glory – snuggled safely between the cottage cheese and apple sauce. Thanks, dear Husband.

Note to self: strangle said Husband.

In a moment of motherhood brilliance, I scrape out what little yogurt left in the bowl, mix it with some dry cereal and a bit of milk. Still looks like yogurt. Passes the taste test. Excellent. Oh, I’m quick. And damn proud of myself.

Twenty mintues pass as I’m getting ready for work.


“Yes, sweetie?”

“My yogurt tastes funny!”

I come downstairs and taste it. “Let me fix it for you”, I announce – and swiftly pick it up, take it to the kitchen, and sprinkle an ever-so-slight bit of sugar in it.

“Okay, honey – here you go. Taste it for me and let me know if you like it”

He tastes. He smiles. He likes it!

Another twenty minutes pass and it’s time to leave for school. I notice he didn’t finish the yogurt, but that’s not unusual. I pick it up to put it away in an effort to get out of the house and get him to school on time. No sooner am I out of the room on my way to the kitchen do I hear a complete and total meltdown. Tears of massive proportion. I try explaining, reasoning, comforting. The tears are not stopping. I don’t have time for this. I try with all my muster to maintain composure and not lose it. Patience … patience … patience.

The pep talk works, as I put on his shoes and get him out the door. Tears the entire time. I’m still talking to him in a soothing voice, still trying to comfort, still maintaining composure. Damn, I’m good this morning. I make a mental note to reward myself with one of those tiny chocolate easter eggs once I get to work.

It takes a bit of time and effort to actually make it to the car. He doesn’t want to go to school because he’s hungry, he tells me. I calmly tell him that if we hurry and get to school that they will have breakfast for him there … something yummy, I promise. He plants himself next to the back gate and doesn’t budge. He doesn’t want to go to school. He wants to stay at his house today and eat.

I tell him to have a nice day, and I head for the car. He immediately follows, and the crying and tears have intensified about 2.5 notches. I still maintain. Two candy eggs, I promise myself.

Finally strapped safely in his car seat, we’re ready to go. Tears still flowing. But about thirty seconds after pulling out of the driveway, a miracle happened. That, or an alien entered his body. I’m still not quite sure which. He ever-so-slowly started to cry a bit less, a bit quieter. A slow wimper. It was actually very cute and made me chuckle. And then suddenly:

“I don’t want to cry anymore, Mama”

“You don’t?”

“No. Babies cry and I’m not a little baby anymore. So I don’t want to cry.”

“I’m so proud of you, honey.”

“Thanks, Mama. I don’t want to cry because I’m not a baby and cyring babies are afraid.”

“They’re afraid? Afraid of what?”

“They’re afraid of dinosaurs. The mean dinosaurs, not the nice ones. And they’re afraid of falling in the volcano and getting full of fire and smoke”

“Crying babies are afraid of falling in a volcano?”

“Yes. That’s where crying babies go. In a volcano. And they don’t come out.”