We’re not out of the driveway yesterday on our way to visit a college friend of mine and I hear from the back seat:
“Mom, WE want MUSIC!”
(WE being the 2 1/2-year-old and the nine-month-old.)
“MOM! Mom, Mom! Help! I’m not safe! ”
My heart stops, thinking I forgot to buckle him in, and now we are careening down the freeway.
I look up in the rearview to see Will pointing at the interior door lock, which is in the up and unlocked position.
“Put that fing down, Mom! I’m not safe!”
Later, safely locked in, but delivered with similar drama and alarm in his voice:
“Mom, mom, I dropped my cars!”
I explain, for the fifty-squillionth time, that I can’t retrieve books, papers, water bottles or CARS while I am driving. (Say it with me: “It’s not safe.”)
Quiet in the back seat for a minute, and then:
“Mom, Dad would get it for me.”