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Mia, that’s YOUR backpack.

The day before Paul came down with the stomach flu, we were out getting a couple of chores done before we set out for the health food store to get the ingredients for low sugar peanut butter cookies (though, I have to say, if you happen to come across a peanut butter cookie recipe that only contains two tablespoons of sugar, do not attempt to make it, unless what you really want is the taste of a peanut butter sandwich).

After we’d finished the last chore, Paul put his sleeve in his mouth and chewed on it. I don’t object to the sleeve chewing per se, it’s the fact that he ends up with a rashy patch on his cheeck after chewing for a long time, which is especially not good in this dry, cold weather.

I turned to him and asked him to get his sleeve out of his mouth, then said, “Why are you always chewing your sleeve?”

“Because I’m thirsty, Mama.”

Five year old logic is just…beyond me. So I got out my water bottle, which I’d actually remembered (I asked Mia The Original, who climbs mountains and leads wilderness tours, what kind of coat I should get Paul to keep him warm this winter, and she said, “Well, you want something lightweight, because your backpack will be filled already, with water, some snacks, a book or two -” and I was like, “Mia, that’s YOUR backpack. Mine will have crumbs in it from the last carrot muffin I bought when Paul and I were hungry and ten miles from home.”) and gave it to Paul. He had a long drink, then spilled the rest on his pants. “Oh no,” he wailed.

“That’s okay,” I said cheerfully. “We’ll just run home, change clothes, and then set off for the rest of our trip.”

Paul threw himself on the floor and started in on a full blown tantrum. I sighed and stood waiting for it to be over. Before Paul was born I read up on tantrums, and the books advised to hug the child and stroke his hair and talk gently to him. So when Paul was a toddler and started throwing tantrums I tried doing that, with disastrous results. The kid hates being touched when he’s having a tantrum and it only makes the whole thing go on longer (with lots of throwing himself across the room to get away from you).

Part of me wanted to skip changing the pants, but then Kite’s face appeared in my head and said, “Do noooooot let your child in the coooooold with wet paaaaaants,” and I stuck with it. “I have no idea what’s so upsetting about this,” I said calmly.

[screech]

“It won’t take ten minutes.”

[graaaaaaaah]

“Can you please find another place to lie down? This person behind you needs to get by.”

[WAIL, with scootching over to let the person behind him get by]

The person behind him was an elderly woman in a wheelchair. She stopped her wheelchair, then looked down at Paul, bemused. “Are you doing your exercises?” she said, and I almost cracked up - indeed, the way Paul was lying on his side and lifting one leg up looked like an excerpt from Jane Fonda’s Step and Stretch Workout. Paul, startled, stood up and moved closer to me.

So I was able to get him outside and as we headed towards our apartment I asked, “Were you upset because you thought we were going to miss our bus?”

“Yes,” he said, and sniffled.

“Ah,” I said. Of course; in Albuquerque when we missed our bus, it could be as much as an hour and a half waiting for the next one. “We can’t miss our bus in Toronto,” I said. “They come every five minutes. Even if we wanted to miss our bus, we couldn’t.”

His face brightened. “Really?”

“Truly.”