And this particular post is certainly for me. (Although, for each of my pre-three year old children, I have had a great deal of patience. It's something to do with their third birthdays that make me lose the ability to consistently see tantrums for what they are and regulate my own emotional responses to them.)
The next time I ask Nina what she wants for breakfast the next morning and she replies, "Toast. But not brown toast. I don't like brown toast. But I want cinnamon, but not brown cinnamon. Because I don't like brown." And I patiently answer, "How about yogurt. It's pink." And she continues with a desperate plea that only increases in pitch and lasts for what feels like an eternity - even as I injure myself and leave the room and go downstairs to the other end of the apartment - "No, Mama! I want TOAST! I just don't want brown toast! I want toast! I WANT TOAST! I DON'T LIKE BROWN! I WANT TOAST! MAAAAAMAAAA!" I will then find myself (or raid my scrapbooking supplies if necessary and construct myself) a brown paper bag. Because I know I'll need it. Perhaps then I won't wound myself in frustration like I did two days ago.
And yes, I did actually consider burning her breakfast so that she'd not have to suffer the torture of brown toast.
And yes, she did ask nicely for toast yesterday morning before I made it. And she enjoyed it. Even though it was brown.
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