Heartbreak and Questionable Taste

We met mom and dad for breakfast last Saturday at (where else?) Cracker Barrel. Gabe only wanted cheerios and kept asking when they would come. When our orders finally arrived, the server brought everything but his cereal and said it was coming. He, of course, didn't understand and just thought they weren't bringing his food. Mom offered him her orange slice which he declined with a pout. When dad started eating it though, he reached out his hands toward it, quietly saying, "I want it." I offered him mine, which he declined. Then I tried to get dad's attention to give Gabe his other orange slice. I should have seen it coming. This pouty indecisiveness is always the prelude to some sort of emotional outburst. Before I realized it, Gabe turned toward me, covered his eyes with his hands as though he were embarrassed or ashamed, and then began bawling. As I pulled him out of his chair into my lap, it was all I could do not to cry myself. I know it seems like such a minor little incident. It certainly wasn't the first time he has ever cried. But there was a quality to it that was completely new -- the quality of heartbreak. I guess he thought he had just been overlooked and left out, and it hurt his feelings. Now, I won't say Gabe is insensitive, but he is such a happy-go-lucky kid that I don't think I've ever really seen him be hurt in this way. He gets mad and frustrated; he gets scared occasionally; he even gets remorseful. But to see that his little heart was hurting just cut me in two. I know this is only the first of many times in his life that he will feel this emotion to one degree or another; and therefore, I know I too will experience this maternal empathy again.

On a completely different note, Gabe just came in from playing outside. When he came to the door, I could see through the window that his face was covered with dirt, mostly in the area of his mouth. I couldn't imagine what could have caused this since he had been nibbling on goldfish crackers and rice cakes while playing -- neither of which are dirt-colored. I opened the door and asked him what was on his face. His response: "I eat a stick." Yes, that's right, he decided that a common yard stick looked like a tasty treat. Now, this is the same kid who refuses to taste mashed potatoes and has only recently begun eating green beans. I then noticed that the front of his jacket was covered with something wet and little bits of debris -- apparently, the stick wasn't all that tasty because he had spit it out, or more accurately, dribbled it down his front. Maybe I should pay more attention the next time he asks if he can eat the poo poo that is stuck on the bottom of a pair of flops Van left out on the deck...