Tonight Big G was having a little freak-out session in the car. Not in a bad way—just the type of spastic motions that urge other drivers to call the cops and report an unrestrained preschooler in my car. He was, of course, restrained. I kind of like him alive, and do my very best to keep him that way (though the side-to-side gyrations and accompanying yelps gave me momentary pause on that point).
So we’re driving along…yelp, gyrate, tickle Little G until he cries, jerk head back and forth wildly.
Then from the back seat, a pathetic wail: “Mo-om!”
I suppress my giggles.
“Mo-om! I hurt myself!”
I’m ever-so-proud to report I did not say, “I told you so.”
Seriously, people. I’m the best mom ever.