When Bridget asked for “brekuss” this morning, I obliged and set to work toasting a slice of bread to perfection and smearing it with a glob of peanut butter. I guess she had forgotten all about the cereal that had been mooched from my dish already, to the extent I had to give it up and let her finish it off completely. Bowl of cereal aside, I’m not in the habit of denying my growing toddler a second “brekuss,” so toast it was. 

Here you go, Pookie, I said, placing the plate of toast on the table.

Cookie?

(uh-oh) No Bridget. I said “Pookie” not “cookie.” In an attempt to thwart the malestom of toddler tantrums that was sure to ensue as a result of a misunderstood word, I ushered the conversation ahead. Here’s your toast, Bea. Yummy, yummy toast! Lots of ooey gooey peanut butter! Yum, yum, yum! (doing silly dance)

Me have cookie? bypassing toast and running for cupboard Cookies up dere? (pointing) Special treats? Me have sumpin special? (imploring eyes)

Toast is special, Bea. Toast with lots of peanut butter is something really, REALLY special! (sound convincing sound convincing sound convincing)

Although Bridget did, eventually, eat her toast, every so often she would utter the word cookie in a most longing and pathetic sort of way. So like any mother with not enough to do during this busy time of year (yes, that was meant to be sarcstic), I asked if she would like to make cookies together. I’m sure you know the response to the promise of warm cookies, so we mixed, rolled, and cut a dozen sugar trees, angels, and stars.

When the timer sounded, I handed Bridget a cookie, fresh from the oven, and she promptly ran off with her special treat.

And forgot all about it after just one bite.

You know who finished it, right?

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