“Just taste it!” I yelled, in desperation.

“I hate green grapes, they’re bitter!” He screamed back…

“How do you know, if you don’t try them?” I countered, wisely. At the same time, picking up one of the grapes and popping it into my mouth as evidence of their sweetness.

“Yum, these are good!” I said, in that fake- mom voice that makes me sound like a Sesame Street flunkee’.

“I just know! They were bad last time! I only like the red ones.”

And with that, I’d had it. And quite possibly, I lost my momma- mind.

It was one of those weeks where the stars align and so do my hormones and temper.  To be fair, he wasn’t making sense, and I was (technically) right.  How did he know if these green grapes were bitter, unless he tried them?

The battle had gone on long enough. I would make him try them.  NOW.

I part jokingly, part stubbornly, pushed the grape against his front teeth, waiting for it to “pop” and for his sure to follow admission of it’s  sweetness.  The “pop” I felt was followed  quickly by a flow of blood, not juice from his mouth.

For a minute I wondered what  had happened.. was it a tainted grape?  Did it have a razor blade in it- or some evil shard of glass?  What sick person would do that to a kid?  I grabbed a napkin and hoped he wouldn’t notice the blood.

Too late.

His complaints about bitter grapes turned into a siren-type scream: “You knocked my toof out!”  “Mommy!  You knocked my toof out!” Tears mixed with the rivulet of blood on his chin. (more…)