Attack of the Protein Deficiency, Slappy’s Lament, and a Parent’s Wonderful, Awful Idea
Background: We all went to Splash Country yesterday. It was hot and sunny, and we all got completely worn out.
More background: Freaktoe needs protein first thing in the morning. Don’t know why, but when she doesn’t get it shortly after she wakes up, she’s a different kid.
Still more background: Freaktoe is now 9. Slappy is 3. And by the way, I don’t really call our eldest Freaktoe anywhere except on this blog, but I do sometimes call the little nugget Slappy.
Fade in. It’s a little after 8:00 a.m., and I had a little more than 30 minutes to feed the kids before I needed to get myself ready so we could all make it to church on time. Slappy, still groggy and resembling a miniature homeless person, was wandering back and forth in the hall, begging anyone who would listen for her morning sippy cup of milk. Freaktoe was in front of the computer. I couldn’t immediately tell how long she’d been there, but it would become apparent soon enough.
“Freaktoe, time for breakfast. We’re out of bacon. What’s it gonna be? Peanut butter toast or vanilla Carnation?”
“Muffins.”
Not one of the choices, I thought before Slappy chimed in, whine-meter on 11. “May you get me some milk?”
“Just a minute, Slappy. We don’t have time for muffins.”
Freaktoe lost it immediately, which told me two things, neither of them good: (1) the protein window of opportunity had opened and closed; and (2) things were about to get ugly.
“Peanut butter is disGUSTing! I want muffins!” Stomp, stomp, stomp she went down the hall. When she was gone, Slappy re-appeared and reminded me that she wanted her milk. As if I’d forgotten the thirty appeals in the last sixty seconds.
Well, I sent Freaktoe to time out and turned my attention to Angela, who, in her defense, was busy doing something useful, I just can’t remember what. “Where’s Slappy’s sippy cup?”
Angela and Freaktoe responded at the same time. Freaktoe, as always, was first and loudest. “I HATE . . . Both sippy . . . PEANUT BUTTER . . . cups are . . . I WANT . . . dirty . . . MUFFINS!
After the echoed subsided, I drummed up every last ounce of false enthusiasm I had and said, “Slappy, how about some milk in a big-girl cup?”
Then Slappy lost it, bristling against the added pressures of growing older. “I don’t want a big-girl cup! I want a sippy cup!” To emphasize her point, she threw herself on the carpet and thrashed about like a beached flounder trying in vain to convulse itself back into the surf. Okay, then. Noted.
Before I could deal with that, Freaktoe started intentionally making choking noises over in the time-out chair. “Ack! Ack! Ack, Ack!” She started doing this within the last two weeks. Don’t know why. One of life’s little mysteries.
“Freaktoe, stop acting like a baby.”
Freaktoe didn’t care for this comment. She broke out in tears and went running down the hall to hide and cry. For a moment, I could hear nothing but “DON’T CALL ME A BABY!!!” rising and falling in pitch like a passing ambulance. As it faded, Slappy’s lament filled the void. “I WANT A SIPPY CUP!”
Breathing deeply, I fixed some peanut butter toast for both Freaktoe and Slappy and poured some milk into a small plastic glass for Slappy.
The cacophony of Freaktoe’s distant bawling and Slappy’s not-distant-enough screaming continued while I drank my chocolate Carnation. Eventually, though, I had Slappy and Freaktoe sulking, but sitting at the table trying to keep from diluting their peanut butter with residual tears.
It was quiet. The squall had passed and left little damage in its wake. Patience and wisdom had prevailed, and the girls had come to terms with life’s terrible disappointments. It was smooth sailing from here.
“Freaktoe, whatcha want to drink? Milk or water?”
“Water,” she says.
And then I had an idea. A Grinch-ish, wonderful, awful idea.
What would happen if I now washed out the sippy cup, filled it with milk, and gave it to
. . . Freaktoe?
Oh, how the sparks would fly!
Well, there’s no good way to finish this story except by lying, because I didn’t actually do it. I’m generally not a fan of intentionally inflicting permanent emotional damage on my loved ones. I’m happy to report that Freaktoe ate her protein and Slappy drank her milk out of a big-girl cup.
And I still have my sanity. But it could go at any moment.
Jason said,
October 24, 2005 at 11:21 am
I am a big supporter of protein. Until now, I thought I was the biggest fan!!! Great story.