"What do you want for breakfast?" I asked, just as I do every day.

"Ummm . . . waffles!" Alexis replied.

Together we trudged down the stairs into the kitchen to toss a frozen waffle or two into the microwave. Personally I prefer the things to be toasted, but Alexis likes them mushy.

"I want syrup, too," she said.

The kid has eaten waffles nearly every morning for the past two years. Never before has she requested syrup with them.

"Are you sure?" I asked, completely disbelieving.

Her reply was that of a child who has forgotten that whining will not get you your way. I waited for her to realize her error.

"Can I please have syrup?" she finally choked out from her tear-stained face.

"Thank you for asking nicely," I replied as I grabbed the syrup from the cabinet.

"I want a LOT of syrup!" she cheerily said. Three-year olds are quite possibly the very definition of Wild Mood Swings.

I pondered the fact that Alexis eats her breakfast while snuggled into my side of the bed. I would be right next to her as she ate, but since I needed to blow dry my hair, I figured giving the kid a lot of syrup was destined to end bad. I made a big production out of pouring a tiny little drop.

"I want MORE syrup," Alexis said.

"I already gave you a lot, Alexis," I lied. Sorry, but I prefer my bed sheets to be of the not sticky and wet variety.

Never one to relent easily, Alexis continued hounding me for more syrup. She threw in enough Please Action for me to finally give her another tiny drop, but I made sure to make it appear that I had actually poured half the bottle.

"Is that better?" I asked.

"Yeah," Alexis replied.

We trudged back upstairs and I settled Alexis into her perch on the bed. As I turned to grab the blow dryer, she wailed, "I DON'T WANT SYRUP ON MY WAFFLES!"

"You said you wanted syrup, Alexis," I replied.

"I DON'T WANT SYRUP, WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! I HATE YOU! YOU SUCK! I'M NEVER SPEAKING TO YOU AGAIN! YOU ARE THE WORST MOTHER EVER!" OK, so maybe she didn't say all of those things, but each was most certainly implied.

Mornings and I have never really been friends. In fact, if Mornings were to get a twitter account, I would declare them worse than an O-bot and block them instantly. Yet, the early morning fog that clouds my brain and makes me useless helps me to ignore whining. There was lots of whining to be ignored. In fact, I'm pretty sure Alexis was doing everything in her power to start a fight. Over syrup.

I did not cave. I told her she could choose to have a good day, or she could choose to have a bad day. She said she wanted to have a bad day. Whatever. She can have a Syrup has Ruined My Life Day if she wants to.

After tackling the short person and cramming her into some clothes, I hauled her and her empty belly back downstairs. I tossed the uneaten bowl of syrupy waffles on Alexis' table as I grabbed her shoes.

As I turned around and walked over to start putting her shoes on her feet, Alexis started shoveling her waffles into her mouth. Her syrup-covered, cold as ice, mushy as can be waffles.

I glared at her oblivious face, disbelief pouring off my body.

Who needs an amusement park when I can get that kind of roller coaster ride right in my own home?