If you give a toddler a sippy cup, chances are, it will be the wrong color.

When you give him an alternate cup, he might have a total f#@king meltdown on the floor.

32.5 minutes of hysteria will make him hot, so he will demand to go swimming. At 6:32 a.m. In January.

Not being able to exercise his right to swim, the toddler will cry some more, and you will start Plan B: Distraction.

Your efforts to distract your toddler will remind him of his favorite board game. He’ll want to play. Immediately.

You’ll set up the game and start playing. You’ll probably let him win. After all, your coffee is getting cold.

He will roll a 4, and it will remind him of a 4-leaf clover art project he made last March. It’s the one you silently disposed of under cover of night 2 weeks ago, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

He will get up to go find this art and stop by the toy box.

In 9 seconds, he will dump an entire box of legos, wrangle a box of contraband crayons to the floor, read 6 lift-the-flap books, and declare he is bored.

Being bored will remind him that he’s hungry. He will want cereal and demand to pour it himself.  He will spill 2/3 of the box on the floor and eat no more than 2 bites of a full bowl. Your phone will ring, and you will pause your cereal cleaning efforts.

Seeing you busy on the phone will remind your toddler that he needs your attention. He will lick you.

Licking you reminds him of a popsicle, so he will go to the freezer to find one.

Looking in the freezer will require him to knock everything to the floor. He will find an ice pack and insist he has a boo-boo.

Touching the ice pack will remind him of Frozen, and he will want to watch it. Immediately.

You put on Frozen and go back to cleaning the spilled cereal.

Talk of Olaf turning into a puddle will make your toddler thirsty. He will demand a drink.

And, chances are, if you give him a sippy cup, it will be the wrong color.

This post was originally published on Sisterhood of the Training Pants. 

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About the Author

Sarah is a archaeologist and former museum minion giving it hell as a stay-at-home-mom in Atlanta, Georgia. She loves coffee, bad TV, and gin, but not necessarily in that order.  When she isn’t battling a never-ending pile of laundry or wrangling two spirited children, she’s writing about life’s insights and indignities at her website The Sisterhood of the Training Pants.  For something to read, check out the blog.  For something to do, check out Camp Mom. You can also follow Sarah on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Instagram.