Then along came the cupcakes. They were my idea, so I take the blame. You see, I was just trying to fill that time of day I've come to know as the witching hour: the post-afternoon nap, pre-dinner, dad's not home from yet, I can't get a (*&^ thing done stretch from roughly 4 to 6 p.m. My little boy was restless, bored with his vast array of toys, and the weather was lousy. A teething baby had been using me as a chew toy, and my aching arms (as well as other body parts) just needed a break. So I put her in the highchair with some Cheerios and said the magic words to my son: "Let's make cupcakes!"

So we measured and we mixed, and 22 minutes later it was a beautiful thing to behold: frosted deliciousness wrapped in a tiny paper liner. My sweet little boy turned to me with sprinkles still clinging to his chunky fingers and asked the magic question: "Mama, can I eat one?"

"Not now," I told him. "You can have one after dinner."

Even before I finished saying it, I could see his little chin start to quiver, the tears welling up in those blue-green eyes. Cue the massive meltdown in 3, 2, 1....

What was I thinking? "Not now?" A toddler's whole world is now. Later, tomorrow, three weeks from Tuesday... these are concepts that don't quite register with a two-and-a-half year old. I might as well have told him "Not ever," because all he could wrap his mind around was the fact there was a cupcake on the counter, a cupcake he had slaved over (OK, Betty Crocker slaved over it, but he had helped), so close he could drool over it (and probably did) and it was somehow forbidden?

So there I stood in the kitchen, faced with a tough choice: stand my ground and preserve some hope that dinner would be eaten, or let him eat the cupcake and put an end to the tantrum. Maybe it wasn't the best decision, but I chose the path of least resistance, the one covered in sprinkles. He grinned, grabbed the cupcake and buried his face in the frosting. Crisis averted.

But it's never that simple, because who wants to stop with just one cupcake? So of course he turned to me with frosting still oozing from his mouth, cheeks still stuffed, looking like a rabid chipmunk and begged for another. But this time, I stood firm: "No. Not now." Back came the tears, the balled up fists, the stomping feet. "Not now" is not fun.

Later that same night I came to know exactly how he felt. Once both kids were asleep I settled in to do a little bit of writing. OK, maybe just a quick hello to my 635 Facebook friends, then a little writing. Right after just the teensiest little bit of e-mail, I'll do some writing.

Except that someone had sent me a cupcake. Not an actual cupcake (although if there is a way to receive baked goods via email, someone please tell me how to make it happen), but my very own seemingly forbidden fruit. It was a job posting for the one position I wanted, at the one place I'd always hoped to work. Here I was, trying so hard to commit myself to staying home with my kids, a decision I'm pretty sure is the right one right now, and along comes a cupcake. What to do?

Eating the cupcake (applying for the job) would mean a potentially huge stomachache: daycare, commuting, a demanding schedule, being away from my husband and kids, missing out on so much personally. Is it worth the pain? I have a good situation "sans" cupcake: I recognize that we are blessed to be in a position where financially I don't have to work full-time. And working a few nights/week at a local radio station helps bring some escape from 24-7 Mommyville. Could I really handle an entire cupcake at this point?

But not being able to eat the cupcake is, pardon the pun, no piece of cake: I crave the life I left behind, feel like I'm missing out on so much professionally. A cupcake like this doesn't come along very often. My stimulation-challenged brain shouted "Eat the cupcake, already!" while my heart screamed "Not now!"

Not now is definitely not fun.

So what's a girl to do? Eat the cupcake or put it back on the shelf? It's times like these I wish I had someone to make the decisions for me. Someone to tame my internal tantrum and set me straight. Someone to help me sort out "now" from "not now." But I'm a big girl, and this is part of growing up. I'll just have to think it over, pray for clarity and figure out if this is my time to take a bite.

Mona Shand is the mother of two and a local news reporter who loves cupcakes. You can read more on her blog.