me: Here are the cupcakes I've been working on for you for two days since your school is celebrating your summer birthday today.
biscuit: I don't really like them.
me: Excuse me?
biscuit: That's not really what I wanted.
me: You're saying that you're disappointed with your cupcakes?
biscuit: Yeah. I wanted vines.
me: They're cupcakes, dude. Your favorite flavor. Pumpkin chocolate. Homemade icing in the color you requested. How can you possibly find fault with CUPCAKES??
biscuit: I just don't really think they're very good.
me: (heart quietly breaks)
biscuit: So can I just have one now?
me: No. No way. There's no way you're hurting my feelings and then getting to sit around eating cake for breakfast. We'll just stop at Target and get you some Goldfish to take to school today, and I'll freeze these for some other time, since you find them so unacceptable.
biscuit: (has a screaming, flailing hissyfit, runs upstairs screaming BUT I LIKE THEM!)
me: (stomps around, grumbles, blogs)
biscuit: Sniffle. Mommy. I want my cupcakes. I like my cupcakes. They're nice.
me: Thanks, buddy. Do you want me to put a design on them? Would that make them better?
biscuit: Yeah. Can you do a heart? Because I love you.
me: (heart breaks again for a much better reason)
If you're wondering what it's like, having kids, there you have it. They break your heart a hundred times a day in a hundred different ways. Quietly, loudly, with screams and hugs and tears and the sound of things you like shattering on the floor.
But then they fix it again.