Giving the People What They Want. At Least the Sally and Laura People.

The following is a list of items I served Asher for breakfast this morning.

1. Bowl of syrup
2. Eggy bread made to dip in that syrup
3. Cheerios, milk, spoon (these each get mentioned individually because he asked for them individually)
4. Handful of Rice Chex
5. Graham crackers
6. Bowl of frozen fruit
7. Smoothie
8. Cup of milk
9. Bowl of marinara sauce
10. Bread for dipping in that marinara sauce

The following is a list of items that Asher actually ate for breakfast this morning.
1. Bowl of syrup

Not only did he eat the syrup, he completely ignored the eggy bread I made to dip in it, so he dug his pudgy fingers into the syrup and smeared the mess in his mouth, on his cheeks, and in his hair. In fact, when I lifted him out of his chair, he stuck to the tray in front of him and I had to pull with a good amount of force. The sticky sound he made as he separated from the seat was impressive.

Now, I'll admit I'm kind of judging myself for indulging him. I mean, what kind of mother makes four different meals for one child, including tomato sauce for breakfast? A poor one, one whose child is going to walk all over her and who will facilitate his drug habit when he's a teenager. She should read some books. Or at least listen to Dr. Phil more.

Then the indignant mother in me gets mad at the judging mother in me and says, "Nu, uh!" You give me a screaming child and I'll patiently ignore that child for YEARS. I've got nerves of STEEL. I can so no with the BEST of them. I pride myself on my tantrum ignoring abilities. I laugh in the face of child anger. But here's the thing. I taught Asher to say please. And it's pretty much the cutest thing ever. Truck full of puppies? Not even close. Baby in a chicken costume with chunky thighs sticking out? We're getting there, but not quite. And I defy any mother to look at Asher with his superfluous band-aids on his face because he wanted them and cottage cheese matted all through his very fine baby hair and hear "More. Cheese. Please?" and say no.

It can't be done. Fatty babies gotta eat, am I right?

And now it just clicked. This is why Scott is Deirdre's favorite. He was just that cute.

I'm raising Scott Paulsen.