You never know

Jeff and I love diners, and luckily for us, our town isn't lacking in them. We found a new one Wednesday evening and liked it so much that we went back tonight.

We had been out and about and wanted something quick and cheap, so I asked Jeff if the diner was good with him. He said yes, then I asked Biscuit.

Our conversation went like this:

Me: "Biscuit?"

Biscuit: "HUNH?"

Jeff: "Say 'ma'am', Biscuit."

Biscuit: "Ma'am."

Me: "Biscuit?"

Biscuit: "HUNH?"

Jeff: "Biscuit, say 'ma'am' when Mama calls you."

Me: "Biscuit?"

Biscuit: "Hunh, yes ma'am?"

Jeff: "Good job, Biscuit."

Me: "Biscuit, would you like pancakes for dinner?"

Biscuit: "YEAH. PANCAKES! PANCAKES!!!"

I went to a cooking class with a friend this morning, and Jeff and I decided we'd run some errands once I got home. When I called Jeff to tell him I was on the way home, he said he and Biscuit were ready to go, but Biscuit hadn't had a nap. I figured he'd sleep while we were driving to our first errand destination.

I was halfway right. Biscuit did fall asleep in the car, but he had only been asleep about 10 minutes when we got to the first store. I got his stroller from the back of the car and set him in it. I told him he could go back to sleep. He looked around, then said, "No, Mom. I awake. I look around."

He seemed to be in a fine mood ... until we were at our table at the diner.

I ordered silver-dollar pancakes and bacon for Biscuit. I asked them to make it crispy because I worry about Biscuit trying to eat chewy bacon. I've heard of kids getting choked on it.

Biscuit started chowing down on his pancakes, then he asked if he could eat the bacon. I said yes and told him to chew, chew, chew before he swallowed. He took two bites and didn't want anymore.

He handed the rest of the bacon to me. "Are you done with this?" I asked.

"Yes, Mom. I done. I done with bacon," he said.

It looked really good, and I wanted to taste it. So I did. And apparently that was a bad, bad thing.

"NO, MOM! That MY bacon. You give it back, Mom. You take bacon out of your mouth. You give it back, Mom." Biscuit whined.

"You said you were done with it, so I ate it. I can't give it back." I said. And the wailing commenced.

Wednesday night when we were at this diner, the manager came over about halfway through our meal and complimented us and Biscuit on his manners. "He's so independent and well-behaved," the manager said. "You can bring him back ANYtime." And that made us feel really good.

I bet he wouldn't have said that tonight.

I shouldn't complain. Biscuit and I were coming out of the grocery store the other day, and Biscuit was just so happy. He was laughing and singing and talking. Then we heard a noise across the parking lot that sounded like a wounded animal. It was a little boy probably about 3 years old who was pitching the worst fit imaginable. And his mama just kept saying, "I mean it. I MEAN it. STOP."

Biscuit said, "Why he crying, Mom?"

"I'm not sure, Biscuit. He must be pretty sad," I said.

"Yeah, he's sad. I not sad, Mom. I happy. I happy, Mom," Biscuit said.

So the moral of the story is that with a toddler, you never know what you'll get. Sometimes they're perfectly behaved. Sometimes they're whiny and can't be satisfied. Sometimes they're wild as animals. And sometimes they're just happy. We like that one best.