Like every good mother, I like to try and force the monsters to have a healthy breakfast before school. I have good reasons for this. At least that way, when a teacher asks the class what they had for breakfast that day, my kid won't be the one that says "Half a kosher pickle and a mug of yesterday's coffee!" And it was going well, too. I generally got the monsterlettes and their siblings to eat strawberry instant oatmeal, or a bagel and juice... you know - something that generally resembled real food.
But, a couple of months ago, when things started getting full of the drama, I made a grievous error. I let the monsterlettes have a bologna sandwich with american cheese for lunch one day. It must have been a really busy day, because this is not something I would let the twinnies have if I had been sane. But #6 fell in love. Bologna is his nectar of the Gods. His ambrosia. His answer for world peace. In short, we have been trained by a three year old. And, if we want to be able to get him dressed for school in less than 90 minutes, and we don't want to have to include the entire family in the dressing process while he kicks, screams, and has an epic meltdown, we obey.
Here's how it plays out:
"#6, what do you want for breakfast? It's school today! Yay! You will get to see Miss Patti and Miss Erica and Miss Nikki, and all your friends! You will get to play outside, have music, and do the weather!"
"NO! No school for ME!" insert scream at a pitch that makes dogs cry
"But we LOVE school! And there is snack and group, and all your friends will be sad if you don't come!"
"NO! NONONONONO! NO SCHOOL FOR ME! SLEEP for me!"
The brave one continues on, seemingly oblivious to the storm that is brewing. Lightning is beginning to crackle against the ceiling, and dark clouds are forming. The kid is getting himself together to throw the mother of all meltdowns. And it's gonna be big.
"What would you like to have for breakfast? Toast and a fruit cup?"
"That's DISGUSTING! GO AWAY FROM ME!"
"Strawberry oatmeal and hot chocolate?"
"NO TOUCH ME! I'm telling Mom!"
"Bwoh-nee sammich CHEESE! Go GET IT! NOW!"
"Okay, Mumma will make your sammich, but it will run away from you if you try to eat it naked, so let's hurry and get you dressed! MOM! Get out the bologna!"
And, 7.2 seconds later, a smiling, dressed preschooler is chomping away at his Oscar Mayer and Kraft sammich. The Daddy stands in the kitchen holding his travel mug of coffee, watching #6 inhale his own personal breakfast of champions, shaking his head and wiping his hand down his face, as though to imply that we narrowly missed disaster. He's right.
You're welcome, Miss Patti and Miss Erica and Miss Nikki. You're welcome.
Images in this post from the Google.