It took my 3-year-old less than 4 minutes to nearly get 86'd from riding in my new car.
Kids are messy, I own one, I get it. If it's crumbly, edible, and Costco sells it, then I've probably vacuumed it out of the back of my wife's Pilot. I did, however, insist that my car would be different. I'm not about to see what a Tootsie Roll does to microsuede, or learn how much milk I can sop out of the seat gap before it curdles. "There will be NO FOOD in dad's car," I said. It's a rule. It's in the books, as Uncle Buck would say.
I pick our son up from school today, and it will be his first ride in my car. I'm either expecting pure excitement, or a "WHERE'S MAMA'S CAR, NOT THIS CAR, THIS IS NOT MY CAR" meltdown. He comes bolting out of school overjoyed to get in, carrying a Father's Day gift bag. I took a cursory look--not a TSA-level search, but a pass through--and noted stickers, a card, a koozie, a bag of microwave popcorn, nothing bad--OH WAIT, A TOOTSIE POP! I managed to pocket it smoothly, sight unseen. Crisis averted, right? Wrong.
He and I are talking about his day, I'm pulling out into traffic, and all is well when suddenly I hear, "Ew, daddy, this is gross, I don't like it, need to throw it out the window!" I turn around to find him with a half-gnawed Sugar Daddy caramel-nightmare-treat, dominant hand glistening with sugar-enriched drool, opposite paw clutching a dripping chunk of the treat that he decided to jettison from his mouth as he's looking around for the window button...
In case you're wondering, yes, I nearly wrecked the car. No food. It was the only rule. What's so hard about that?
This is why we can't have nice things.
Happy early Father's Day, all!
Kids are messy, I own one, I get it. If it's crumbly, edible, and Costco sells it, then I've probably vacuumed it out of the back of my wife's Pilot. I did, however, insist that my car would be different. I'm not about to see what a Tootsie Roll does to microsuede, or learn how much milk I can sop out of the seat gap before it curdles. "There will be NO FOOD in dad's car," I said. It's a rule. It's in the books, as Uncle Buck would say.
I pick our son up from school today, and it will be his first ride in my car. I'm either expecting pure excitement, or a "WHERE'S MAMA'S CAR, NOT THIS CAR, THIS IS NOT MY CAR" meltdown. He comes bolting out of school overjoyed to get in, carrying a Father's Day gift bag. I took a cursory look--not a TSA-level search, but a pass through--and noted stickers, a card, a koozie, a bag of microwave popcorn, nothing bad--OH WAIT, A TOOTSIE POP! I managed to pocket it smoothly, sight unseen. Crisis averted, right? Wrong.
He and I are talking about his day, I'm pulling out into traffic, and all is well when suddenly I hear, "Ew, daddy, this is gross, I don't like it, need to throw it out the window!" I turn around to find him with a half-gnawed Sugar Daddy caramel-nightmare-treat, dominant hand glistening with sugar-enriched drool, opposite paw clutching a dripping chunk of the treat that he decided to jettison from his mouth as he's looking around for the window button...
In case you're wondering, yes, I nearly wrecked the car. No food. It was the only rule. What's so hard about that?
This is why we can't have nice things.
Happy early Father's Day, all!
