It Just Can't Be Done

Reasoning with a 5-year-old, that is.

So I'm running late for work this morning, as I am pretty much every morning, and I go to drop the kid off and realize at the door of her classroom that I've forgotten her breakfast in the car.

Not a big deal, I thought, because they have a lovely snack coming up in less than an hour and that's not really so very long to wait, plus she'll be playing with her friends and will forget all about it so it will be fine.

Oh. No. It. Won't.

Of course my forgetfulness did not go unnoticed as I hoped, and the waterworks began with a wail. My "but sweetie, you have a snack soon and I'm already late for work, plus when I park today I have to stop and get my April parking pass because my 5 days grace period on March's pass was up yesterday and I really really really don't have time to go back to the car and get your honey bun and can't you look forward to having it this afternoon after school for a snack?" was to absolutely no avail. To be honest, I probably could have gone and gotten the honey bun and been back in the time it took me to try to talk her into not being upset about it.

When finally I told her that I was sorry but she would have to have it for a snack after school because I really had to go, she ran sobbing to her teacher, at which point I was pretty sure I was not going to be up for Aunt of the Year.

Teacher of course looked at me questioningly and I explained that I left her breakfast in the car but I needed to go. "Honey bun?" she asked. I nodded. I'm pretty sure I noticed a flicker of relief on Teacher's face that there would be no honey bun this morning.

Because, as if a honey bun itself does not have enough sugar, they went and frosted them. I've seen the results after the kid intakes what must be the equivalent of half a bag of sugar in a frosted honey bun-- it sometimes ain't pretty. Which is why I usually send them to school with her for breakfast, tee hee. We're slowly whittling down the entire box of them that Memaw bought for her at Sam's.

Of course at one point the need arose to have a conversation about how we don't eat just the frosting off of the honey bun, we have to eat the whole honey bun. You know, so the kind of bready bun part can at least try to even out all of the sugar in the frosting. Anyway.

As Teacher hugged her, patted her shoulder and mouthed to me that "she'll be all right," I told them both to have a good day and started to leave. I heard another loud wail and looked back through the window. I knew what I had to do.

I sprinted out to the car (inasmuch as what I do can be considered a sprint), got the honey bun, hurried back inside, having to stop of course at security (which is always the slow part and the main reason why I hate to have to go out and come back in, ever, but really I am glad they have such good security) and sped toward her classroom. Through the window I noticed the kid was still standing by Teacher, no longer hugging her and sobbing, but wiping at her eyes and sniffling. When I appeared in the doorway with the honeybun, all thoughts of tears were gone and a huge smile lit up her face. (Though I can't say the same for Teacher)

It was worth being later.