I loved it when my kids were really little and easily distracted. They'd be crawling, with dogged determination, toward something they were not supposed to have: a book they were intent on shredding, a cell phone they were going to use to call Mongolia, a checkbook they wanted to eat or a bottle of red pepper flakes they wanted to shower over themselves. I could see their dangerous wide-eyed fascination. I'd take a step, scoop up the forbidden object, hide it behind my back and they'd look confused and think, "Was I coming over here for something? Oh, well!" Those were the good old days!

As time went on, they seemed to be able to hold things in their mind longer. The bottle of red pepper flakes would disappear behind my back and they'd continue to look for it and start to wail. But then I'd hold out a spoon and watch their little brain shift gears: "Ooo, look! Something shiny!" Of course, eventually that didn't work either; the new object I was offering up had to be more attractive than the forbidden object, which is difficult, because there is essentially nothing that is more attractive than a forbidden object. That was when the wailing began in earnest.

Fortunately, most children quickly get bored with wailing for what they can't have and settle for something else. My son is not one of those children. He perseverates. He continues on, unwavering, even in the face of both repeated disappointment and distracting rewards.

I know a mom who, when she is in doubt, uses what she calls "The Cookie Test" to determine how genuinely determined and distressed a child is. For example, a child falls off a bicycle and starts screaming in pain and fear. Does the child actually need to go to the emergency room or is it more shock than pain that is causing the uproar? She will offer the child a cookie. If the child calms down and accepts the cookie, all is probably well. If the child continues wailing even in the face of a special treat, further monitoring is warranted. A child who is perseverating (or seriously injured) will fail the Cookie Test.

A week ago, my son wanted "squares." He could not communicate what he wanted more clearly than that, so we played 10,000 questions to try to figure out what "squares" meant. Was it a checker board? Tetris? Blokus? Tangrams? No, no, no and NO! I was stumped. I told him we'd have to do something else, but all attempts at distraction failed. I offered my own version of the Cookie Test: video game time. No, he wanted "squares." I offered the Chocolate Cake With Ice Cream Test: a brand new game. Nope, "squares." So, I let him scream, and ask me over and over for "squares" while I told him over and over I couldn't figure it out. And I waited with him for one of us to have a breakthrough.

When he finally screamed himself out after an hour and a half, he was able to tell me that "squares" was "a new game" he had invented: "And it's on a green game board. And the board has 600 squares and 22 sides and 500 pieces. And the pieces are blue and red and you have to put them down diagonal and get 6 in a row to win." Then he told me we'd play it tomorrow and took me up on that video game time. Whew! What happened to the days when I could wave a spoon at him and get him to change tracks?

It saddens me that he gets so painfully frustrated, that he can't let go, that we can't have our cookie and move on. But I love that he is brilliant, that he is persisting and trying and creating and sharing. And after all, who am I to talk? Haven't I been known to perseverate myself at times? Haven't most of us who have moved beyond the stage of being distracted by shiny spoons?