It's about our community and our spirituality!

Waffle Diplomacy

My son is so cute! Right now dude is throwing a tantrum. He’s been eating waffles with blackberry honey from a farm in state of Washington every single day for the past week for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Mom said enough is enough. Baby boy has an eating disorder where he gets attached to a single food item and then won’t eat anything else for days. We started with waffles and quickly moved on. We’ve been through frosted flakes, cornflakes, corn Chex, pretzels, celery, fresh salmon, shortbread cookies, and corn chips. And now we’re back to waffles. We can go about a week before his mother puts her foot down and says it’s time to change. No more waffles! As of this morning my son had his last waffle for what will may become a lengthy while.

My son made it through lunch mostly on milk. His mother made him a little salmon, a few carrots, and some corn chips. He enjoyed eating them at one time. Maybe he’ll go to something he’s familiar with pretty easy. But baby boy wouldn’t have any of it. He kept going to the fridge, getting the milk and pouring it into his glass. Mom caught on and cutoff the milk supply. By dinner time, my son was jones-ing for his waffles. He’d go to the freezer and open it himself, point inside, and demanded his waffles. And when he didn’t get them in a timely manner, the tantrum started.

The tears practically spurted out his eyes. The little feet started stamping. The wailing commenced. He shook his head back and forth like he was trying to spin it around like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. He screamed. Mom calmly sat down at the kitchen table as if to say, oh well. The gauntlet went down.

Dude followed mom to the kitchen table and took his seat. I was already at the kitchen table, surfing the net, looking for jobs, and catching up on the latest news. In front of baby boy was a plate of salmon. He protested. The head went back and forth, his lungs sucked in an extra supply of air to heighten the decibels of the wailing, and the tears started to flow with even more alacrity. Spittle began to hang from his bottom lip. Dude was pulling out all the stops to look as pathetic and as miserable as possible. Mom just rolled her eyes. I didn’t realize she could appear so unconcerned.

I had to laugh. The whole thing looked like something that could’ve come straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting if Mr. Rockwell did more stuff with black subjects. It was a moment of spontaneity that could tell a story. I grabbed the camera and snapped a few pictures just to remember the moment.

If I was either one of them I’d probably throw in my towel. But these two were pulling out all the stops. And then suddenly mom’s cover cracked. She asked me if I thought it would be a good idea to scramble him some eggs. I said, hell yes, just a little too enthusiastically. I admit I’m a wimp and I have no defenses for my son’s tears.

She got the eggs out the fridge, got a pan out the cabinet, got the spices off the shelf and went to work. Baby boy tamped down the wails but continued to tug on mom’s nerves with a little whimpering. She cooked the eggs, put it on a plate and put it in front of him. He screamed on the first bite and spat it out. The eggs weren’t what he wanted. He jumped from his chair and started his tantrum again with a new enthusiasm. Mom rolled her eyes, turned around, and went to the sink to start washing the dishes.

The second time around baby boy was the one to crack. His bawling began to sputter. Eventually he went back to his seat and began to feed himself the eggs. I must’ve said something, but what it was escapes me right now so it must’ve been nothing really, and mom turned around and asked if I thought she was really mean. She followed my gaze down to our son and was happy to see him eating his eggs. The curse of whatever spell the waffle and honey cast on the boy was broken. When he was finished, mom was pretty happy. She knew that the eggs weren’t going to fill him up so she decided to give him some brown rice toast with a little honey on it. Not quite the waffle he wanted but it was a gesture of compromise nevertheless.

My son ate the single slice of toast. When he was through he asked for another. Mom said no and the two cut their losses. Trust me, eventually he’ll go back to eating waffles and I will be a happy man. We went to the grocery store yesterday and made a serious investment in his waffle supply. We’re not going to let those waffles degenerate into something that resembles and taste like cardboard with ice crystals. We’ll be back here in two, three weeks tops. Somebody’s got to eat all those waffles. By then, baby boy will probably be on cornflakes like an addict will be on crack. He’ll be jones-ing for something. And we’ll replay this whole routine in another episode to get him to eat something different like all those waffles in the freezer.

Saturday, July 17, 2010 - Posted by | Life, Thoughts


  1. Sounds like my son! Aren’t kids great! lmao!

    Comment by asabagna | Sunday, July 18, 2010 | Reply

  2. You’re blessed with your beautiful, persistant, strong baby boy! He KNOWS what he wants and FIGHTS to get it!!
    Soak up all your experiences with him because before you know it, he’ll be 28 years old, like my baby is!

    Comment by Anna Renee | Sunday, July 18, 2010 | Reply

  3. OOOboy do I remember those days.
    Just be the Parents.

    Comment by Akinwole | Monday, July 19, 2010 | Reply

  4. When you say eating disorder, is this just sarcasm, or does he have some bonafide psycho-physiological deal with his food?

    And you know, if your wife is cooking up salmon, set me a place at the table!

    Comment by Mike Lovell | Monday, July 19, 2010 | Reply

    • Thanks for the feedback Mike Lovell,

      LOL!!! As soon as we get our house finished you and yours will have to come to St. Louis and I promise we’ll have a plate for you all!

      It has been a “concern” that he might have an eating disorder (not really a diagnosis). Him and his mother went into a program here at one of the local hospitals for being such a picky eater. They gave her the “tools” to get him to try different things. I just sit back and write about it.


      Comment by brotherpeacemaker | Monday, July 19, 2010 | Reply

  5. One of these days man, I promise I will come down and tour your neighborhood with ya, while the wives do what they do best- talk!

    Comment by Mike Lovell | Monday, July 19, 2010 | Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: