It’s the first week of Fall but you wouldn’t know it by the temperature here in Texas. It still feels face-melting Inferno hot. So hot that if my sweet (but slow) children take any longer getting out of the car, I may end up in a melted puddle on the ground.
There is something mysterious about the length of time it especially takes my youngest to get out of the car. When it’s time to get out of the car, he is suddenly distracted by 3-day old goldfish in his carseat, or a piece of trash under the passenger seat. He loves to give me a play-by-play of everything that he sees in the car as I’m liquefying into a pile on the driveway.
I am always pleading with him to get out of the car.
“Yes, I see the crumbly goldfish in your carseat. Can you just keep coming closer to the door?”
“Ooooh yes, there’s a straw under the passenger seat. Fascinating. Can you grab it for me and inch this way a bit?”
“Yes, you can bring your toy car inside. Why don’t we take it inside RIGHT NOW?”
“I see that your shorts are wet. Yes, I know you spilled your water on them. If we go inside, you can put on dry shorts.”
“I see the moon. You can see it better from OUTSIDE of the car.”
In the midst of pleading with him, I’ve thought of many things that are likely faster than him getting out of the car:
A slug on a salty street
Watching Netflix on a 14.4k modem
A sleeping sloth
Eating soup with chopsticks
A herd of 3 legged turtles
So, while I may end up disintegrating into a pile of melted mess on our driveway, at least he’s making me well aware of everything in our car. Because if he doesn’t tell me about the crumbly goldfish or the half-naked Barbie, who would?