The Sweetie Aisle Trauma

What a week this has been! My lovely Max turned 8 and now "feels so much taller". He has loved his birthday - particularly the food element. It is not difficult to work out that Max's love language is good food, and lots of it (even if he can't manage to actually eat it all). Thankfully he is, so far, still hugely appreciative of my cooking and doesn't even mind when my cakes don't rise properly or my lasagne plops onto his plate like a cow pat. He just loves food, and I love loving him with food.

The day before his birthday was a tricky one though. The school tradition is for the birthday child to bring in sweets to share with their class, so without thinking of the disastrous possibilities, I took Jonah to the supermarket to choose some sweets for Max and his class. Why on earth I did not realise how much of a stupid idea this was, I will never know. In naive optimism, I genuinely thought that Jonah would ENJOY buying sweets for Max to take into school. How very, very wrong I was. Standing in the sweetie aisle, Jonah picked up a handful of sweets.

Jonah: "I'll have these ones."
Me (realising my mistake, but still hoping it could be rectified): "Oh no! We're not buying for you today, these are for Max to give to his friends."
Jonah: (mouth wobbling, eyes filling with tears) "But I want these."
Me: (breathing deeply, realising this is not going to be fixed easily): "No. I am not buying for you today. Come with me please."
Jonah (dropping to the floor with a dramatic wail): "BUT I WANT SOME!"
Me: (preparing for battle): "Stand up, take my hand and come with me."
Jonah: "NOOOOOO!"

Much to the horror of the old ladies in the vicinity (I'm sure their children never did that!) I held onto his hand and, with the determination of an athlete in their final sprint, dragged him around the supermarket on his knees while I finished my shopping. I gave him plenty of opportunities to stand and walk. He refused every time. I heard tuts (can't be sure whether they were for me or for him) and Jonah even had a lecture from an old man about Father Christmas not coming if he wasn't a good boy. Nothing worked. I was the mother with the screaming child. Oh how our children humble us.

Max was pleased with the sweets though, so perhaps it was worth it.