Saturday morning, Nate requested oatmeal for breakfast. I was surprised; he’s had waffles every morning for months. But okay, we have oatmeal. I grabbed a packet at random and put it in the microwave.<\/p>\n
While it was cooling, I poured a bowl of cereal for myself. Then I called him in from the family room and we sat down to eat.<\/p>\n
He hemmed and hawed about how it was too hot, although he hadn’t actually touched it yet. Finally he took a bite, and announced, “I don’t like this oatmeal. I want waffles.” I realized that I had selected an unflavored packet from the variety pack. I offered to put some maple syrup in his oatmeal, but he held firm: “Maple syrup just reminds me of waffles even more.” Okay, kiddo, you got it, but you’re going to have to wait until I finish my breakfast before I make you another breakfast.<\/p>\n
Well, he really didn’t like that, but I wasn’t going to let my cereal get soggy.<\/p>\n
So I made him a waffle and he ate it up, and that was fine. I threw the oatmeal away.<\/p>\n
Sunday morning. Again: “I want oatmeal. Flavored<\/em> oatmeal this time, not the way you made it the day before this day.” (“Yesterday” still means “any day in the past.” We’re working on it.) I carefully selected Apple Cinnamon and cooked it up. When it was cool enough to eat, I presented it to him, and he regarded it suspiciously. “What flavor is it?”<\/p>\n “Apple Cinnamon.”<\/p>\n “I don’t like cinnamon.”<\/p>\n “Actually, you do. This is your favorite flavor. Just taste it.”<\/p>\n Wonder of wonders, he tasted it. “You’re right! I do like it.” Praise Elath, he’s eating it.<\/p>\n After three bites, he held a spoonful up and inspected it closely. “Daddy? What does cinnamon look<\/em> like?”<\/p>\n This is the point where I should have said, “You can’t see it, you can just taste it.” But no! Here’s a question I can answer. I was all excited to expand his horizons. I went to the pantry and grabbed my can of cinnamon. The can has my initials on it in Sharpie, because I bought it when I moved into my college apartment, probably sixteen years ago. It’s still 90 percent full. Obviously I’m not much for baking. But anyway, I brought it in and popped the lid. “See? Doesn’t it smell good?”<\/p>\n “It smells wonderful.<\/em> But it looks like something that came out of my butt. I don’t want this oatmeal any more. I want waffles.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Three and a half is such a special age. Saturday morning, Nate requested oatmeal for breakfast. I was surprised; he’s had waffles every morning for months. But okay, we have oatmeal. I grabbed a packet at random and put it in the microwave. While it was cooling, I poured a bowl of cereal for myself. … Continue reading Eat It<\/span>