Lucky to Be Alive

quarterOf course I would never really kill one of my own offspring, but recently, I considered it momentarily. The house was too quiet and I knew. I just knew. I followed the silence to the garage and found them.

My boys were playing inside the minivan. The button pushing doesn’t really bother me now. I keep the keys in the house (a dead battery lesson learned several years ago), so they can’t really do any damage, but I gave them the obvious lecture about never EVER putting anything inside the CD player in the dashboard (a lesson learned from our other car that now only plays cassettes). Good thing we still have a rad supply of those from the 80s.

Thinking my warning had been stern enough, I went back into the house.

Not four minutes later, the youngest is yelling that he wants his money back. What? I reenter the garage and find them sitting on the hood of the minivan throwing pennies onto the top of the open garage door.

Game over. Get down. Get out of the garage.

I close the garage door and it starts raining pennies, nickels and dimes. Not a quarter among them, but I pick them up and return them to the proper piggy bank. With the boys playing safely in the backyard, I thought the damage incident was over, but two days later, it got worse.

On the way to the grandparents’ cabin, I tried to put a DVD into the player in the minivan. Jammed. Try again. Jammed.

And from the back seat, my daughter says, “I can see something stuck in there, Mom.” I lean back and look. THAT is where the quarters are.

Livid.

“Why? Didn’t I tell you not to put anything in the CD player? So why would you put the money in the DVD player?”

No answer.

“Why?” I’m off the livid scale by this time, onto the Richter scale. “Why? You like watching movies when we have long drives. And I told you not to. Why?”

“I already did it before you told me not to,” he admitted with his lip out.

Being female, sometimes I forget how members of the male-half of the world think, “If there is a hole, I should put something in it.” And apparently, that kind of thinking begins at a very early age.

I swear he is lucky to be alive.

What trouble did your kids get in this summer? Oh, that’s right, you dear readers have perfect children, I’m sure…

2 thoughts on “Lucky to Be Alive

  1. Years ago, I left our then 8 year old son in the car while I ducked into the store. While in the store I heard him scream. As I ran out of the store to save him from whatever trauma had occurred, he was jumping up & down in tears, holding onto his hand. When I asked him what had happened, he told me he had slammed his finger in the door.

    Honing in on my detective skills, I noticed the perfect bullseye imprint left on the tip of his finger & determined that he stuck his finger in the cigarette lighter in the car….ah, the good old days!

    Anyone who tells you their kids are perfect are big fat liars! Kids are kids. Curious, push the envelope kind of humans…the good news is, all of these events lead to great stories as they get older!

    Like

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