This morning, at 7:12 am, I discovered that McDonald's coffee tastes like the inside of the black plastic lid they slap on it. But boy, did it hit the spot.
Drive-through pancakes at 7 am for a kid who wouldn't eat dinner last night and approaching the danger zone? It was exactly what we needed.
Our youngest is starting to come out of the worst of one of the hardest times of our lives. More importantly, the hardest time of their life. We’ve been in a hard, dark place for the last 8 weeks. And now, we can start to see a light on the edge of the horizon.
One of the many discoveries that we have made — along with many others with the help of a team of doctors and therapists — is that Deej is built like an elite athlete. Truly, I’ve never seen them sweat. They can spend 5 straight hours in a trampoline park, running and jumping, learning how to backflip into the ball pit in 5 tries, and they will only need to rest for 3 minutes, twice. This kid needs to move to think.
(Guess how well traditional schools do with a kid like this? You’re right. Terrible. We’re still looking for a school that could meet this kid’s needs. Will we find one? Only the Shadow knows.)
When Deej eats, it is only for fuel. When they were 2 years old, I knew they were never going to sit down for a meal. We’ve never required it. Why create more havoc and pain? Sometimes I’d watch them run by me in the hall and lay out my hand with a cube of cheese in my palm. They’d stop for a moment, consider it, and then pop it into their mouth. And keep running.
It’s pretty much the same now.
I remember Deej looking at me once, when they were three, to say: “You know, Mama, not everyone loves food. Is that all right?”
Of course, kiddo. Of course.
In this recent hard, dark time, I’ve learned that Deej only functions well if I feed them every 2 hours. Something with protein, complex carbs, and good fats, preferably.
I have never been the mama who prepares ahead of time and always has a bag full of snacks. I have to become that mama now, for the sake of my kid. That’s why we love cooking in big batches now. A handful of meatballs? Easy peasy.
But this morning, after dropping my daughter off at the ferry for her commute to high school and on the way to drop off my husband at his new job, I heard the growlings growing in the seat behind me. Crap. I forgot to bring some snacks in the car. We had a long night behind us.
Danny grabbed a mandarin orange out of his lunch and handed it to our kiddo. And as we passed the golden arches, I remembered the many McDonald’s breakfasts I ate as a kid when my family and I drove up and down I-5 in California. Outside Bakersfield, early morning, summer of 1978, on our way up to the Bay Area? Big platter of pancakes with a little plastic container of whipped butter and a little tub of maple syrup.
Hey kiddo? Want some pancakes?
In this emergency, McDonalds ' perfectly engineered pancakes and little tub of syrup are a lifesaver.
(And whenever I think of McDonalds now, I think of this searing piece by my friend Kim Foster.)
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