September 19, 2008
Pictured below is James's favorite mode of transportation--his wood-panelled cozy-coupe mini-van with the built in car phone. Sexy, no?
As you can see, if has its very own parking space in our two car garage. And in my mind, a vehicle as stealth as this one totally deserves that caliber of care and treatment.
Oh, who am I kidding? If I don't let the kid park his van in the garage he trows a rousing tantrum right between the snow blower and the lawnmower. I'd be pretty upset if James lost a finger in a moment of rage (or broke my yard equipment), so I'm like, "Fine. Park yer damn van in my spot. I'll be out here in the driveway scrubbing the bird poo off my windshield."
Last night the weatherman broke the unfortunate news that we'd have our first frost and should plan on scraping ice off our cars in the morning (also a good reminder to get the dog's coat out of storage and refill your Prozac prescription because, darn it, the winters up here are very freaking long).
Obviously I wanted my covered parking space back, so I did what any authoritative parent would do. I waited until James and Jared were fast asleep, tiptoed into the garage, moved Jared's car into the driveway and parked the sassy plastic van right in the middle of my husband's spot.
When I was pushing James's van across the garage, I noticed he had stocked a few toys inside of its pretend trunk. I was like, "Oh, how cute! What a boy! He packed his Lightening McQueen baseball glove (smile), a big ol' stick (gush), and...wait...hold on....an enormous pile of rusty screws and nails?!?!"
Holy bananas, folks. I think I'll go ahead and call CPS on myself. I'm sure a confession will move the process along.