But anyhooskie, so I picked up this truck for him about a month ago when it was on sale. And when I got it home, I put it where anyone would - under the guest bed upstairs thinking, "He'll never look under this bed in a million years!" I mean, he's not even old enough to understand the whole concept of looking for Christmas gifts yet, and why would he ever have cause to poke his head underneath a bed in a room he barely ever goes into? Clearly this was the perfect spot.
Enter this past Monday. Ian was upstairs playing in his room while I was sitting at the kitchen table typing on the computer when suddenly I hear, "Mom, I need to open this! I need to open this!" Then I can tell that's he's coming down the stairs. Again: "Mommy, I need to open this truck!" So I get up to go around the corner to see what he needs, of course thinking, "What the hell is he talking about? What truck?" I said as much, too: "What truck, Ian?" By now he's reached the bottom of the stairs. He shoves the box in my face and says, "This one, mommy. I need to open this truck right now!" I know I clearly had some sort of startled, thrown-off look on my face as before me was the very truck I had hidden under the bed a few weeks ago. So, my quick-thinking self said, "Oh, well you can't have that because it's not for you," and snatched it out of his hands. This did not go over well. In fact, there may have been some tears involved. And guilt immediately fell over me as I realized I had just lied to my two-year-old's face and then made him cry. Great. But there was no time for bad feelings because I had to throw him off somehow - so I decided in that moment that it was time for him to go up for his afternoon "rest time" which went over even better, by the way.
Once Ian was cleared of the scene and upstairs in his room, I moved quickly to find a new hiding place. I went into the den and looked up to all the empty space way up high in the cabinets over the desk. Sure, they have glass doors on them but A) He barely goes in that room and B) If he does go in, he'll never think to look up into the cabinet a million years. Perfect! So in it went - with the box turned backwards for good measure. After naptime, not another word was uttered about the truck, so clearly the crisis had been averted and I was in the clear.
Enter today. I picked up Ian from preschool as usual and we headed home. Though I'll add, not before he threw a complete fit when I attempted to pull him away from his teacher. In fact, once I corraled him into the car it was only after I told him that Aunt Brianne and Uncle Zach were coming over to visit him tonight that he was able to compose himself. Not that I felt like chopped liver or anything. But, I digress. So, we weren't home five minutes and he started in on, "Mom, I need to play with my truck. I need my truck, right now." (Everything is "need" and "right now" these days, by the way. I mean, I understand that we all have our needs. Like, I "need" a million dollars "right now" but I'm probably not going to get it. Sheesh.) So, immediately I started to get a little nervous but thought, "I'm not going to panic. I'm not going to panic. He could be talking about something else." So I said, "Oh, what truck are you talking about? I don't know where it is so maybe you can help tell me what it looks like." "The blue truck, mommy. I need my blue truck. " Hmmm...well this Christmas truck does happen to be blue. Now I'm starting to panic. Again, "I don't know what you're talking about Ian..." Until he suddenly turns and starts heading toward the den and says, "This one!" pointing up right here:
Score: Ian, two; Mom, zero.
Until I write again.
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