She's upset because she's hungry and our pretzel is too hot to eat. She wants it now but if she eats it, she will burn herself. She knows without my saying. A while back, we were in the same Starbucks at the same Barnes and Noble with the same steaming hot pretzel between us.
I had just explained to her that the pretzel was too hot to eat.
"It will burn your mouth," I said. "Don't do it! Noooooo!!!"
Fable didn't listen, took a bite, spat it out, cried. I told you so, said the moment.
"See?" I said.
Since then she's known to wait. She remembers. Instead she crosses her arms, pouts, kicks her chair but doesn't dare bite into anything without inspecting it for warmth.
I stab the pretzel with a plastic knife to let some of the heat escape and then she does the same. I pull at the sides. I'm hungry, too.
"Hot," she says, as the steam pours out through the slits.
"Yup. Still too hot."
She frowns again.
I join her.
Patience has never been my strength but it's something I have become much better at since having kids. Perhaps because I'm constantly explaining to them of its importance...
"Wait your turn."
"We'll be there soon."
"It'll cool down in a minute."
"It's not ready yet. Be patient..."
...Until I'm telling myself the same things.