Don't talk back

We eat out entirely too much, so I've been trying to make a weekly menu plan for our meals. Until now, I had sort of a defeatist attitude when a monkey wrench would get thrown into my plans. But I've realized that there are some times the plan just needs to be changed.

Tonight was one of those nights.

I realized this morning that Biscuit's library books were due. So I put them in his tote bag and put them in my car. I had a late meeting at work, so Jeff picked up Biscuit. I told Jeff that we needed cereal and a few other things from the grocery store, we needed to return Biscuit's library books and pick out some new ones, and that those errands were going to mess up my meal plan for tonight.

Enter the pancake restaurant.

As we were leaving the library, Biscuit and I started bargaining on dinner.

"Mom, where are we going now?" Biscuit asked.

"We're going to get some dinner," I said.

"Are we getting pizza?" he asked.

I have homemade pizza on my menu plan for Friday night, so I told Biscuit that he would have to think of something else.

"What about pancakes?" I asked.

"Uuuuum, what about quesadillas with black beans and chips?" Biscuit countered.

"Uuuuuum, what about chicken strips and french fries?" I offered.

"Uuuuuuum, what about chicken NUGGETS and french fries?" he asked.

"Done!" I said. 

The pancake restaurant makes chicken strips. But do you know what happens to chicken strips when you cut them into smaller pieces? They magically become chicken nuggets.

Jeff and Biscuit were in Jeff's car. They went by the ATM, and I went straight to the restaurant.

When Jeff and Biscuit arrived, I said, "Hey, I beat y'all here."

Let me say here that Biscuit loves a race. He races his cars and his horses and his crayons and anything else he can get more than one of. But he does not under any circumstances like to lose races. 

So when I said, "I beat y'all here," he immediately said, "Mom, it's not a race. We were not racing."

"We weren't racing, but I still got here before you did, so I beat you," I said to him. It might sound petty, but he has to learn that not winning every time is okay.

"MOM! I said it wasn't a race," Biscuit said with an attitude that I did not at all appreciate.

"Hey! Don't talk to me like that," I said. "You can disagree with me if you want, but you're not going to talk to me in a mean way."

By this point, we were walking into the diner.

"You didn't win, Mom," Biscuit said. And again, it was in a not-nice voice.

I looked at Jeff, who hadn't even sat down in the booth and said, "Can you take him outside?"

"Yep," Jeff said. It was as simple as that.

I ordered our drinks, and it was a few more minutes before Jeff and Biscuit headed back into the restaurant.

As they walked in the door, I could see that Biscuit had been crying. His tears were still fresh.

Remember how Jeff said Biscuit learned to whisper in a sawmill? Well, as they were walking in the door of the diner, Biscuit said, "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry I talked mean to you. I won't do it again." And I know everyone around us heard him.

An older couple two tables back smiled as he said it. The older woman at the table facing me looked up and scowled at me. Normally, I would've ignore her, but as juvenile as it may sound, I scrunched my face up and scowled right back at her.

I told Biscuit to come with me to the bathroom so we could wash our hands. As I was helping him get the soap lathered up, I added on to what I'm figuring Jeff had told him outside. "Biscuit, I don't want you to talk mean to Dad or me anymore. That's not the right way to talk to your parents, okay?"

"Okay, Mom," he said. "I'm sorry."

While we were gone, a nice couple off to the side of us told Jeff that Biscuit reminded them of their son when he was that age.

"He's a nice boy, but sometimes he has to be reminded that he can't talk back to his Mama," Jeff said smiling.

"Ours is 16 now," the man said. "And it isn't any better at 16."

Biscuit was really good for the rest of the night. I don't even want to think about 16!