Jack's Coffee

One of my mad skills is looking back and (usually) being able to see where I went wrong in any given situation that turned sour on me. As this beautiful morning is unfolding, my two year old is throwing a temper tantrum like I haven't seen come from him, ever. He's literally throwing himself on the floor, screaming, and running off to stumble onto his bed in such a dramatic way that I feel like I should give him an award for it when he's done. Why, you ask, is he acting in such a two-year-old manner on a sunny Friday morning? Well, it is because he, of course, wants. . . coffee. As I scan my memory to past events that would have led up to the dramatic morning my little Jack is having, I fall upon last night and the happenings at our home.

We hosted a birthday party for our niece, Micah, and toward the end of the evening Jack was getting tired. I joked that he needed some coffee. Jack jumped on the idea and kept exclaiming, "Coffee! Coffee!" So, I did what I can only assume every parent would do, and I took his sippy cup to the coffee pot and pretended to put coffee in it. I wish it ended there. It should have. But, because I am who I am, and I usually don't know when to stop, I kept going. I poured a little creamer (the taste-good vanilla kind) into his milk and shook it up for him. I handed it back to him and said, "Here you go, babe. Coffee." Like I said before, I have mad skills when it comes to seeing where I went wrong. That was it; that is where I went wrong. That is the reason my son is at my feet as I write this, sobbing, sippy cup in hand, crocodile tears streaming down his face...vanilla-creamer-milk. Or, in Jack's words, "Coffee!"