Near Miss

Remember Scarlett of the polymorphous tummy, the organ that Freud built?

Well, she suddenly sprouted eczema: angry, itchy, bloody. I play the allopathic-naturopathic Russian Roulette and this time landed the homeopath, who strongly suspected a wheat allergy.

See this? Bread is Scarlett's Secret Boyfriend Number 1 through Infinity.

For the past few weeks, she goes maybe ten minutes without some kind of wheat product and considers that mission accomplished. But then the eczema rendered her knuckles red weepy welts at the same time the tummy aches became unbearable.

Scarlett: "I'm not going to eat wheat. Ever. Stop me if I want some."

Me (truthfully): "If you beg and cry for food, I'll give you some. I can't help it."

Scarlett: "I won't beg and cry. I really really want to try to make this go away."

Me: "If you beg and cry for food, I'll give you some. I'm your mother."

The mother is also not totally convinced of the wheat-eczema-tummy connection, given the daughter's histrionic history. If you ever feel worried about your child's mental health, just click the label Scarlett and know she is aptly named.

Ever meet a three-year-old whose decision to stop pooping had real follow through? For like a month. And then did it all over again?

Now you have.

And that drama finally ended when a very wise parenting teacher advised me to ask Scarlett who was in charge of her poop, mom or Scarlett. Well. We had that all mixed up.

So . . . Scarlett went two complete days without wheat. No tummy aches! The eczema faded pale pink. Once again, homeopathy triumphed over reason (complicated, dubious, but enduring relationship with homeopathy exists here).

Then we made the mistake of going to a brothel called Bread and Chocolate for hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls.

Should an alcoholic own a liquor store? Just popped into my mind.

Scarlett sulked and pouted over her hot cocoa. The whipped cream was unsightly and the chocolate sprinkles stunk. She scowled. When Stryker bit into his cinnamon roll--steamy, soft and dripping with icing--her moan was audible.

But no crying or begging! I had thrown down that flag and was waiting its arrival.

Damn, that girl is good. She took a more passive, darker path of small puppy whimpers, inability to make eye contact and refusal of cocoa, cream and milk.

Finally, me: "Do you really want a cinnamon roll? Even if it means a tummy ache and eczema?"

Scarlett: "YES! I DON'T CARE."

Stryker (licking icing off his plate with utter lack of irony): "Scarlett, you have no self-control."

Me: "Honey, I'll be so disappointed. You've done so well!" (Freud snickers)

A short time passes while the storm clouds quicken and swell.

Finally, me: "Scarlett?"

Daughter: "I can't have a cinnamon roll because you'll be disappointed. Maybe even angry at me."

CLANG CLANG CLANG GO THE THERAPY BELLS.

Me: "I will have no emotion whatsoever connected with what you eat. Nothing. You are 100% in charge of what goes in and out of your body and that is not related to me. I bet you can make your own good decisions by listening to your body."

Cinnamon rolls were had by all. Make mine a double.