Should Have Known Better

“Yeah, it is,” I said. “Wonderful.”

“Well, there’s a secret ingredient,” Sasha teased, batting her fake eyelashes at Reginald.

I peeked over at the microwave. 7:05 a.m. How early did Sasha have to wake up to make all of this? There was no way. She had just as much wine as I and when my alarm went off, I pressed snooze three times. I had no time to shower and skipped R. J.’s reading time only to walk out of the bedroom to find out that Sasha had read Goodnight Moon and prepared breakfast. She was dressed, in full makeup, and had the kids’ lunches prepared.

“Can Mama get your secret?” R. J. asked.

“Sure.” Sasha grinned at me. “I’d be happy to share the secret recipe with my soror.”

“Thanks,” I said humbly.

R. J. had a fork with a huge, rectangular piece of pancake hanging from it. Honey rolled off of its edges.

“No more, R. J.,” I said. “That’s enough.”

R. J. continued to move the fork toward his mouth.

“You’ve had enough,” I repeated. “There’s a lot of sugar in that.”

“Actually, honey is all natural, so it’s OK,” Sasha offered.

I kept my eyes on R. J. and repeated myself again.

He froze with the fork in his hand.

“Oh, Dawn, let him have it,” Reginald said, stepping into the standoff. “He needs energy. The boy has a big day at school today. Don’t you, son?”

R. J. was still frozen, but his eyes shifted from me to Reginald like a pendulum. He looked down, smiled at the last bit of food, and stuffed it quickly and barbarically into his mouth.

“Absolutely not!” I grabbed the plate from in front of him and slung it so hard, it nearly fell off of the table. “That is not how we behave at the table.” I pointed a rigid finger at R. J. “You will apologize!”

R. J.’s eyes were locked on the empty space where his plate had been.

My eyes were locked on him. And I remember that I was feeling like I should stop myself. That this was too much to put him through before school. That I was overreacting. But then I was thinking I was right. And he had to learn this. He couldn’t just behave however he wanted to and expect people to pick up the pieces and act like nothing was happening.

“Oh, he doesn’t have to apologize to me,” Sasha said. “What about you guys?”

“Mind your business,” I shot back.

“Mama, can I go get—”

“Be quiet.” I stopped Cheyenne from leaving the table.

In the silence, R. J. got up from his seat.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Leave him alone, Dawn. Let him go,” Reginald said.

“What do you know about letting him go?” I asked, turning to Reginald. “He can’t have too much sugar. You know that. It’ll make him hyper and then he’s more likely to have a seizure or a meltdown.” I was nearly screaming at Reginald when I saw his eyes widen on R. J.’s seat.

I turned.

R. J. was standing on it.

“What are you doing?” I asked. He’d never done that before.

“Son, get off of the seat,” Reginald called sternly.