My son, age seven, passed on a snack in the afternoon, but by the time dinner was nearly ready, he was interested in a snack. We vetoed him, of course, since dinner takes priority over a snack and dinner is what we would prefer him to fill up on. Needless to say, he was very displeased. He ignored our reassurances that dinner would be ready shortly, and informed us that his tummy was very mad because he was so hungry.
After about five to ten minutes, we called our children into the kitchen for dinner. Fighting off tears as he entered the kitchen, he stopped by the table without sitting and held his arms in a wide, vertical spread, as if to demonstrate the apex of an alligator’s yawn and asserted, “You made my tummy this mad.”
Resisting the urge to laugh, my wife advised him, “it’s okay, because we’re having taquitos for dinner — your favorite — and your tummy will be much happier once you start eating.”
“It will be much happier, but it will still be this mad (gestures emphatically) because you didn’t let my tummy have a snack!” He declared dramatically, and then sat down and started to eat. And eat. And eat. And eat ...
Six taquitos later (never mind that his father was stuffed after four), unprompted, he advises his mother, “My tummy is much happier now. Look at my hands!” He exclaimed as he held his arms in front of him, this time in the closed-mouth alligator. “Look at my mad part! It shrunk!! And it’s this happy!!” He insisted as he reverted to his apex alligator yawn pose once again.
Of course it is.
