Tuck and I had a day like any other. He didn’t want to get out of bed. Kinzie jumps in his bed. He gets mad as hell and screams toddler profanities at her. While I sit in the kitchen watching breakfast get cold.
Like any crazy house. Just a normal day.
The crazy escalated in the truck. I have spoiled Tuck on certain levels.
-No comments from the crowd. I call it “certain” you may call it “every”. Hush.
I have spoiled him in the sense that just a quick jot into town requires every snack pack and excessive amounts of bottled water he can possibly…
-I CAN possibly cram into our day bag. Yea. Let’s not fool ourselves a little one is not going to lift a finger to have their obsessive amounts of munchies at their beck and call for the next 30 minutes.
30 minutes. I’m not kidding. Didn’t have the equipment to pull it off.
I hit the first stop sign and he looses his shit. No water bottle, no snack, no game, nothing. He acted as if he had just entered D block of big max when I refused. I refused to turn around. I am not doing this today brother. If we need it that bad in the next … now… 25 minutes. I will buy it.
Surprisingly Tuck held it together and… wait for it. Wait.
He actually looked out the window and we had the best ever conversation on penguins and salsa.
Cause THAT’S what you talk about with your 4 year old. Clearly.
The quick trip over, I stopped to grab gas and him a bag of M&M’s and returned my rightful self to my thrown of best Mama ever in his eyes.
Heading back home through the never. flippin. ending. construction. I of course slowed down. Hands on the wheel chatting with boy wonder about girls and germs. I hear what sounds like a train coming up behind me.
Out of no where a little “Fast and furious” wind up car zig zags between the trucks behind me speeds around and cuts. me. off. O-F-F. Cuts me off. Off.
In a now one lane creeping crawling pace construction zone. Off. Followed by giving ME the finger.
You can not be real life.
I’m about a 9 on the tension scale and in my head… I swear.
-Dude your car sounds like shit. Your car is not hot. You look like a middle aged D-bag in that thing. You sir are not a race car driver. You… and I’m totally going out on a limb here… eh hmm.
Still live in your parents basement holding on to those years ago visions of starting your own rock band with your buddies that moved away and made something of themselves.
I took the deepest breath I could inhale without passing out and let it go. Tuck on the other hand blew the tension scale out of the water.
(having full awareness of his surroundings since I for once laid the law out for him), he was screaming like a banshee. My abrupt brake slamming for being cut off had spilled his M&M’s.
Fit was about to hit the shan.
-What dat race car doing?! Why he make you stop fast!!! What’s he doing wiff his hands?!
Breathe in. Breathe out.
-I don’t know brother. Maybe he’s just late or something it’s ok. We’ll pick up you m’s in a bit.
10 minutes later.
We survive the never ending construction zone and arrive right. beside. d-bag. at a red light.
I am not about to look in his general direction. My kid is in the car. I roll up my windows. Calm is kept.
In the front seat.
Tuck on the other hand rolls down his window.
-YOU! You need to slow down YOU spilled my m’s! And you make my Mama stop fast!
Now Tuck having seen race car dude’s finger gesture but not understanding what it actually is of course. Puts his first finger into the air and yells
As I AM frantically trying to find the button to roll UP his window.
And that my friends was one simple afternoon 30 minute trip into town.
You are a rock star dude. You are the defender of all and surprise me in literally every way. From now on dear sir you will be on child lock down while in the backseat.
Love you mean it,
Happy Threesday everyone! Xoxo