Wednesday, March 13, 2013

I Will Wreck This Car. Sweet Lord, I Will Wreck It.

I think my child wants us to die in a fiery car crash. In the car, it is on and on with the requests, demands, questions. "Mama look at this." "I can't reach my baby." "Mama roll my window down." "Mama, play Call me Maybe." "Tie my shoe." "Where is my chap stick?" And On. And On.  There is one thing that gets me every time. That makes me want to wreck the car out of frustration, if I don't do craning around trying to see what she is talking about. It is the following conversation:

A: Mama what is that.
Me: What?
A: That thing?
Me: Where?
A: Right there. * I look back in rear view mirror and she is pointing in a vague area toward the front of the car*
Me: Up here? *I gesture in the same vague way to dash/mirror/steering wheel/air around my head area*
A: Yes. That thing right there.
Me: This light?
A: No. NO. That thing. That thing right there.
Me: This?
A: That.
Me: This?
A: That.
Me: This?
A: NONONO. That.

We do a ten minute session of this. Basically just substitute every single thing in my field of vision in the front seat for "this light" and her answering me in the negatory. Awesome.

Do you know how crazy this type of thing can make a person? It ends with both of us out of breath and screeching at each other and totally confused. I feel like that only thing that can stop the madness is me getting smacked in the face by the airbag.

The worst part is 99% of the time, I never figure out exactly what she is asking me about. I get that she just wants to know things. She is three and curious and interested. But I am barely hanging on to my sanity as it is because we are late for school and I forgot her lunch and my tights are cutting off my circulation and my coffee is cold because I just dumped what I made an hour ago into my cup when we were running out the door and I forgot that it was show and share day and OH MY GOD FOR THE LOVE OF BABY JEEZUS I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT KID. It is like the dudes from Night at the Roxbury being interrogated by Home Land Security. 

The only thing that makes these intensive questions semi-tolerable is that I am not the only one subjected to it. The other morning Lady Baby was helping Hubs iron his shirt and they went through a whole "what's that thing, no that...no that...no that" and it made my heart sing. Then I offered to punch him in the face too.

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