This morning Alex had two pieces of toast with honey for breakfast. Then he asked for a bowl of Weet Bix. One bite into the Weet Bix and he wanted two more pieces of toast. I was reluctant to make them as I thought his eyes were getting too big for his belly so I said that once he had finished the Weet Bix, I would make the toast.
"No mummy," he said, remaining calm and rational (not the "noooooo!" whine I had expected), " I do need the toast to be in front of me at the same time as the Weet Bix. I just do."
I repeated that I didn't want him to run out of space and waste food.
"I promise you," he assured me, "It won't be wasted. Mummy, I still love you but I'm not happy about this. I really want you to make me the toast now. Please." I could see him mustering the strength to control himself as he looked at me plaintively.
I suppressed a smile and agreed to make the toast. I wanted to trust his judgement and reward him for asking in such a polite way instead of whinging. I figured if he then wasted the toast, my point about not wasting food would be made for future reference. But do you know what? He ate the whole thing.