Alternately titled: Car Ride of Random
We were heading home from Russian school, altogether as a family (in our smokin’ hot minivan that we now officially own, no less. HAWT!). It was raining. Again. We were tired and a little hungry since I failed in my mom duties and forgot to pack us dinners to go. But we were together as a family and that made everything a little bit better.
“Hey Mom,” Sloan piped up. “Why do girls always pick on me and bully me?”
“Probably because they like you,” I replied. I know the girls in question and I’m not entirely sure that’s why they’re picking on him. I think they’re just ornery, but I felt compelled to give the standard issue Mom answer as clearly directed in Article 16, Section C of the Mom’s Bylaws for Dealing with Difficult Questions.
Lee turned around and grinned at Sloan. “Told ya,” he said. It’s the standard issue answer for Dad’s as well, apparently.
“But why do they like me?” he asked.
“Because you’re cute and you’re smart and funny. Why wouldn’t they like you?” I answered.
“Hey Mom,” Tia yelled from the back seat. It was raining hard, we had to yell. “When I go to school and I wike some boys, I’m donna bully dem, okay?”
*This is the part where I desperately thumb through the Bylaws. There are no instructions. No INSTRUCTIONS!*
“No, you shouldn’t pick on boys,” Lee answered quickly.
“Why?” Tia asked. “You said dats what girls do when dey wike boys.”
DARN THOSE STANDARD ISSUE ANSWERS!
“Just don’t pick on boys. Treat others the way you want to be treated.”
WAM! The Golden Rule. Works every time…
“Hey Mom,” Tia yells again.
“Can we do handstands in heaven?”
Laughter ensues, but then I look in the rearview mirror and see a very serious face. She wants an answer.
“Well, I don’t see why not,” I say.
“I think you’ll be able to do all the gymnastics you want in heaven,” Lee answered.
“Hey Mom, LOOK!” Landon screeches from his seat.
“I saw a kangaroo back dere by da road.”
“You saw a kangaroo?!”
“Yeah! Turn around. Mom, turn around,” he’s quite serious.
Lee looks back at him. “Did you see a kangaroo back there buddy?”
“Yeah!” He cries.
“Was it a real kangaroo?” Sloan asks craning his neck.
“No. It was pwetend. It was a pwetend one, Dad.”
And then we were home.
Who says riding in the car is boring?