Srawrs and Special Milk

He used to call it Meshul Milk, but finally he mastered "special", even if he doesn't know what it means.  My special boy was looking for a way to delay naptime.

"Mommy, I still hungry.  I want that."  He pointed to 3 places at once.

"Do you want a banana?"

"No 'nana.  I want Cheerios."

"You want Cheerios?"  I showed him the box.

"No, no want Cheerios.  I want that!"

"You want...."

This continued for a few minutes before I gave up and began putting away clean dishes while he tried to make up his mind about what food would taste the best and take the longest to eat.  As I opened cabinets and clinked the dishes together, transporting them across the kitchen, Jackson finally concluded that what he wanted was Special Milk.

"Big special milk or --"

"Big special milk!"  Jackson was delighted suddenly at the prospect of getting to drink as much Milk Chocolate Carnation Instant Breakfast as his tummy would allow.

Special milk is special not just because it is chocolatey milk but because of the presentation we give to it.  Jackson loves to do Big Boy things (other than using the potty), so having a drink from a glass instead of a plastic cup is a joy all its own.  And having a straw with a drink, besides being a safety measure for toes and carpeting, is a bonus that puts a sparkle in the little dear's eye.

As I held the straw dispenser out to him, Jackson proclaimed his desire for a "Green straw!" --and proceeded to grasp a blue one with his left hand and a green one with his right.  Of course, what he really wanted was a blue straw, since he loves to hoard all things blue.

With some encouragement to put the blue straw away because, after all, he said he wanted a green one; thus he was left with only the green straw in his left hand.  Recognizing his error, he tossed the wrong-colored sipper onto the floor.  Perhaps he hoped that I would not notice and think that he hadn't received a straw at all, though more likely here merely wanted to demonstrate that green straws are not worthy of consideration.

This was time for a lesson.

"No, I want a green straw!"

"You had a green straw; you just threw it on the floor.  Now pick it up and drink your special milk."  Germs aren't a worry in our family so much as wastefulness.  I felt no worry about him sipping the drink with this rejected item so long as it was that day and not another when time enough had elapsed for microbes to grow and spread.  The time for this straw was now or never.

Of course, as any 27-month-old presented with a logical argument against his poor little brain, he promptly burst into tears, bawling at me that I would not give him the blue one, angry at himself for saying the wrong color.

"Jackson, you said you wanted green, you chose green, and you threw it onto the floor.  That's the one you are going to drink, or you get no straw.  It's your choice.  But I'm not giving you another straw."

Clinking more dishes and glasses and silverware into their proper storage places, I tried to pretend that I was unaffected by his anguish.  Jackson's incoherent sobs occasionally cleared sufficiently for me to hear, "No srawr!  No geen srawr!  Wahunhunhunhunh!"

"Jackson, I told you that I will not tolerate this kind of rudeness.  You can have the straw you chose or no straw."

"No srawr!  No green srawr!  Wahhhunhunh!"

"Okay, then, I'll drink your special milk," I declared as I retrieved the discredited straw from the floor and inserted it into the glass.  "Mmm, this is yummy!  Do you want some?"

"Wahhhunhunh!  No straw!"  He followed me as I went to sit at his play table, staring as I settled the glass with the chocolatey beverage.

Taking another sip, I glanced at Jackson and watched his little face contort with envy.  He wanted special milk, but he wasn't ready to surrender.

"Would you like some?  Come sit.  Now put your blankey down and use two hands.  Drink slowly, very slowly," I said as I governed the angle of the glass being tipped toward his mouth over our carpeted flooring.  With only a little dismay, I noted the smear of Milk Chocolate Carnation Instant Breakfast that followed the straw's evacuation to the table.

His little hands soon tired of the weight of the tasty burden, and I was entrusted to return the drink to the table.  Jackson's mental gears were nigh visible as he glanced at the rejected green straw and then back at the glass.  Quickly and without a word, he replaced it and began rapidly sipping down the yummy goodness.

After a brief minute or two, he surfaced for air, the glass nearly drained of its contents.

"Are you all done special milk?"

One last slurp, and he was done.  I didn't bother to dredge up the straw debate with him:  we both knew how it ended.