“Mom, what does that sign say?”
“Which one, sweetie?”
“That one over there.”
“The stop sign? It says Stop.”
“NO! The orange one!”
“Calm down, sweetie. Mommie’s driving and can’t look right now, okay? Wait until I stop.”
“It’ll be gone then! I want to know what it said! It looked like a warning sign!”
“It probably was telling everyone to be quiet and let Mommie drive,” the mother joked. She glanced at the back of the van through her baby rear view mirror to see if that satisfied her oldest child’s curiosity. It hadn’t. He was frowning.
“It DID NOT say that!” “What did it SAY!”
“Do not shout at me while I am driving! Calm down or we’re going home!”
She kept driving, trying to watch the road in front of her and the back seat at the same time. In the mirror, she saw her son flail a bit in his seat. Then, he started pushing his body up on his arms, using the arm rests of his booster seat like a gymnast’s balance beams to strain against the seat belt’s shoulder harness. His eyes bugged with the effort. His nostrils flared with each breath. He stretched his mouth into a wide line. His lips pulled back. His teeth ground together. The tendons in his neck popped out clearly on his skinny neck. His face flushed beet red. In the carseat next to him, a smaller – and for once infinitely calmer – version of himself slept peacefully, draped over the buckle straps like a little ragdoll.
“Calm down! You’re making yourself sick! And you’re going to wake up your brother!”
The van stopped at a red light. She turned and met her son’s eyes, matching him glare for glare. He almost looked like he was snarling, but he didn’t say anything. She checked her other son. He had flopped his head up and then back down again like his neck was made of taffy. He still slept, though, completely oblivious to the trouble brewing beside him. The light changed, and the mother focused on the road.
The mother worried more about her younger son waking up. From lots of experience, tantrums were highly contagious in the minivan. It didn’t matter who started it or what it was about. Soon, all three children would be bawling and screaming like tiny banshees. They didn’t even need reasons.
She flicked her eyes to the mirror. Her son was glowering at her, still flushed and breathing heavily. His jaw stuck out stubbornly. He was being quiet, but they weren’t out of the danger zone. She looked past him to the empty carseat in the very back of the van. She whispered a quick prayer of gratitude that the baby at least wasn’t there to take part in the drama. Her little girl was the lucky one, playing at home with the daddy, while she took the boys on a few errands.
Suddenly, she heard an ambulance siren coming from behind her. She slowed down to let it pass in the left lane.
“Oooh! Look, an ambulance! Do you think someone up ahead got hurt?”
Her son said nothing. She started driving again but at the next curve saw that traffic had stopped completely. She groaned in dismay but tried to distract her son again.
“Looks like there’s a wreck up ahead, sweetie. We’re going to be stuck for a while, I guess. Did you hear the siren?”
Silence answered her from the back seat.
Since the van was stopped, she looked around into eyes that still were full of a five-year-old’s fury.
He raised one hand threateningly. Sunlight from the passenger windows glinted off the shiny silver bottom of a toy car he clutched in one small fist.
“I’m gonna throw this car at you!” her son announced with all the grim severity of a judge condemning a guilty man to the electric chair.
“Throw it and you’ll be in deep trouble, mister!”
She turned back to the steering wheel and canceled her earlier prayer. If her husband had come along, he would have made up some crazy story about the sign. Her son would have bought the lie or he would have laughed at how ridiculous it was and made up something of his own.
The car suddenly whizzed by her ear. It pinged off the windshield onto the passenger seat.
“That’s it! I’m calling your dad!” She reached between the bucket seats into her purse and yanked out her cell phone. She flipped it open and hit 1 to phone home.
Her son let loose for real now. He started screaming loud enough to carry through the van’s closed windows. Drops of spit actually began flying around in the back seat as though he were a rabid dog. His brother sat up and looked around groggily for a second before he started to cry. The mother shrunk a bit in her seat and kept from looking at the cars stopped around her for fear that they could hear. She stared at the bumper in front of her and pressed her phone hard against her ear. She counted the rings. Three, and then the voice she needed to hear said, “Hey – whoa! What’s up? Sounds like you’re murdering somebody!”
“Your son’s trying to murder me! Throwing cars at me while I’m driving!” she hissed, not in the mood to joke around. She didn’t think it was possible but the screams got louder when she said that.
“Talk to your son!” she yelled into the phone. She stuck her arm back toward her oldest son. He slammed himself back and forth in the seatbelt and ignored her.
“Talk to your dad!” she screamed.
“I’m not!”
He shook his head over and over and yelled twice more, but finally he snatched the phone out of her hand. She expected him to throw it but he didn’t. He stuck it to his ear and listened for probably one second. Then, he wailed one long piercing “NO!” that vibrated the mother’s ear drums. Wincing, she focused on trying to soothe her three-year-old, who was crying but hadn’t gone full-power yet.
She had one chance with him – he had a bottomless stomach, especially after a nap, and she had a granola bar and half a bottle of water in her purse. She worked on getting him to open his mouth for a bite.
The older boy cried and snorted and slobbered. He would put the phone to his ear and then wave it around for a few minutes. Amazingly, he never closed it or threw it across the van. By the time his little brother started alternating deep sobs with messy bites of granola, he was actually listening to whatever the dad was saying . The mother felt a glimmer of hope for the first time. She also felt a twinge of jealous anger, though, and whispered another prayer. This time she asked God why he had to give the dads more power over the kids than their mothers.
Traffic still wasn’t moving when her son finally handed her the phone.
“Dad wants, to talk, to you,” he stuttered, not yet able to breathe normally after his outburst. He swiping his other arm across his wet, crimson face. It came away covered in snot and tears. He rubbed it onto his shorts. “I want, a snack, too,” he added quietly as she took the phone. He smeared both hands across his face and then rubbed his eyes. She snapped what was left of the granola bar in half and handed both boys their share. She faced forward.
Her husband was laughing when she got the phone to her ear. “It’s not funny!” she snapped, still frustrated. Then, too low for the boys to hear, she whispered, “He was awful! He nearly pegged me in the back of the head with one of his cars!”
“Yeah, that’s why I told him his cars were going to Goodwill for some other well-behaved boy to play with.”
The mother nodded. “Ah, so that’s why he let out that awful scream right at the first!” The bumper in front of her moved. Traffic finally was starting to creep forward. She sighed in relief.
“Yeah, it got his attention. Then, I just had to wait for him to calm down enough to tell me what started it all.”
“The sign.” She said too loudly. She flinched and looked at the mirror. Sometimes, a word would trigger a second round of fits. Both boys had bits of granola stuck on their faces and were poking around at the tangle of toys between their seats. They stopped as the van came level with the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles. It was only a little bumper bender, but it got both of them jabbering with excitement. “Looks like whatever you told him worked. He’s over it now.”
“Yeah –you should have just made up something about the sign. You know he never gives up when he wants to know something.”
“Yeah, I wonder where he gets all that stubbornness from!” The dad laughed. “And for your information, Mr. Smartypants, I did make something up! I told him it said for him to be quiet and let me drive!”
“That’s such a mommy lie!” the dad laughed. “No kid would ever believe that!”
“Fine! You’re the better liar. I admit it!” she chuckled, feeling much better now that she was past the wreck and the tantrum both. “What did you tell him anyway?”
“Simple. You saw it near the park, right? I think that’s what he said anyway. It was hard to tell with all the crying. Well, anyway, I told him that he was right, it was a warning sign that told people to Beware of the Flautists!”
The mother burst out laughing. “And my lie was stupid? He actually bought that?”
“Sure he did! I had to explain it, of course. And flautists can be quite dangerous, you know. Especially at the park! If you drive or walk too close, they lash out with those metal flutes. Those things sting! They can break bones, too, or slash holes in tires. You really have to watch out for those flautists, sweetie!”
The mother shook her head even though her husband couldn’t see it. “You’re awful!”
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it? I just hope you guys don’t run into some real flautists today. It might freak him out.”
“Ha, that’d serve him right!” she giggled. “Little Sister’s being really quiet. Is she playing in her room?”
“Nah, she’s been asleep ever since you guys left. I was going to do some laundry, but I decided to play games online instead since you were out goofing around with the boys…”
The mother cursed and hung up the phone. Then, she prayed a third prayer, this time to keep her from killing her husband when she finally made it home.
“Which one, sweetie?”
“That one over there.”
“The stop sign? It says Stop.”
“NO! The orange one!”
“Calm down, sweetie. Mommie’s driving and can’t look right now, okay? Wait until I stop.”
“It’ll be gone then! I want to know what it said! It looked like a warning sign!”
“It probably was telling everyone to be quiet and let Mommie drive,” the mother joked. She glanced at the back of the van through her baby rear view mirror to see if that satisfied her oldest child’s curiosity. It hadn’t. He was frowning.
“It DID NOT say that!” “What did it SAY!”
“Do not shout at me while I am driving! Calm down or we’re going home!”
She kept driving, trying to watch the road in front of her and the back seat at the same time. In the mirror, she saw her son flail a bit in his seat. Then, he started pushing his body up on his arms, using the arm rests of his booster seat like a gymnast’s balance beams to strain against the seat belt’s shoulder harness. His eyes bugged with the effort. His nostrils flared with each breath. He stretched his mouth into a wide line. His lips pulled back. His teeth ground together. The tendons in his neck popped out clearly on his skinny neck. His face flushed beet red. In the carseat next to him, a smaller – and for once infinitely calmer – version of himself slept peacefully, draped over the buckle straps like a little ragdoll.
“Calm down! You’re making yourself sick! And you’re going to wake up your brother!”
The van stopped at a red light. She turned and met her son’s eyes, matching him glare for glare. He almost looked like he was snarling, but he didn’t say anything. She checked her other son. He had flopped his head up and then back down again like his neck was made of taffy. He still slept, though, completely oblivious to the trouble brewing beside him. The light changed, and the mother focused on the road.
The mother worried more about her younger son waking up. From lots of experience, tantrums were highly contagious in the minivan. It didn’t matter who started it or what it was about. Soon, all three children would be bawling and screaming like tiny banshees. They didn’t even need reasons.
She flicked her eyes to the mirror. Her son was glowering at her, still flushed and breathing heavily. His jaw stuck out stubbornly. He was being quiet, but they weren’t out of the danger zone. She looked past him to the empty carseat in the very back of the van. She whispered a quick prayer of gratitude that the baby at least wasn’t there to take part in the drama. Her little girl was the lucky one, playing at home with the daddy, while she took the boys on a few errands.
Suddenly, she heard an ambulance siren coming from behind her. She slowed down to let it pass in the left lane.
“Oooh! Look, an ambulance! Do you think someone up ahead got hurt?”
Her son said nothing. She started driving again but at the next curve saw that traffic had stopped completely. She groaned in dismay but tried to distract her son again.
“Looks like there’s a wreck up ahead, sweetie. We’re going to be stuck for a while, I guess. Did you hear the siren?”
Silence answered her from the back seat.
Since the van was stopped, she looked around into eyes that still were full of a five-year-old’s fury.
He raised one hand threateningly. Sunlight from the passenger windows glinted off the shiny silver bottom of a toy car he clutched in one small fist.
“I’m gonna throw this car at you!” her son announced with all the grim severity of a judge condemning a guilty man to the electric chair.
“Throw it and you’ll be in deep trouble, mister!”
She turned back to the steering wheel and canceled her earlier prayer. If her husband had come along, he would have made up some crazy story about the sign. Her son would have bought the lie or he would have laughed at how ridiculous it was and made up something of his own.
The car suddenly whizzed by her ear. It pinged off the windshield onto the passenger seat.
“That’s it! I’m calling your dad!” She reached between the bucket seats into her purse and yanked out her cell phone. She flipped it open and hit 1 to phone home.
Her son let loose for real now. He started screaming loud enough to carry through the van’s closed windows. Drops of spit actually began flying around in the back seat as though he were a rabid dog. His brother sat up and looked around groggily for a second before he started to cry. The mother shrunk a bit in her seat and kept from looking at the cars stopped around her for fear that they could hear. She stared at the bumper in front of her and pressed her phone hard against her ear. She counted the rings. Three, and then the voice she needed to hear said, “Hey – whoa! What’s up? Sounds like you’re murdering somebody!”
“Your son’s trying to murder me! Throwing cars at me while I’m driving!” she hissed, not in the mood to joke around. She didn’t think it was possible but the screams got louder when she said that.
“Talk to your son!” she yelled into the phone. She stuck her arm back toward her oldest son. He slammed himself back and forth in the seatbelt and ignored her.
“Talk to your dad!” she screamed.
“I’m not!”
He shook his head over and over and yelled twice more, but finally he snatched the phone out of her hand. She expected him to throw it but he didn’t. He stuck it to his ear and listened for probably one second. Then, he wailed one long piercing “NO!” that vibrated the mother’s ear drums. Wincing, she focused on trying to soothe her three-year-old, who was crying but hadn’t gone full-power yet.
She had one chance with him – he had a bottomless stomach, especially after a nap, and she had a granola bar and half a bottle of water in her purse. She worked on getting him to open his mouth for a bite.
The older boy cried and snorted and slobbered. He would put the phone to his ear and then wave it around for a few minutes. Amazingly, he never closed it or threw it across the van. By the time his little brother started alternating deep sobs with messy bites of granola, he was actually listening to whatever the dad was saying . The mother felt a glimmer of hope for the first time. She also felt a twinge of jealous anger, though, and whispered another prayer. This time she asked God why he had to give the dads more power over the kids than their mothers.
Traffic still wasn’t moving when her son finally handed her the phone.
“Dad wants, to talk, to you,” he stuttered, not yet able to breathe normally after his outburst. He swiping his other arm across his wet, crimson face. It came away covered in snot and tears. He rubbed it onto his shorts. “I want, a snack, too,” he added quietly as she took the phone. He smeared both hands across his face and then rubbed his eyes. She snapped what was left of the granola bar in half and handed both boys their share. She faced forward.
Her husband was laughing when she got the phone to her ear. “It’s not funny!” she snapped, still frustrated. Then, too low for the boys to hear, she whispered, “He was awful! He nearly pegged me in the back of the head with one of his cars!”
“Yeah, that’s why I told him his cars were going to Goodwill for some other well-behaved boy to play with.”
The mother nodded. “Ah, so that’s why he let out that awful scream right at the first!” The bumper in front of her moved. Traffic finally was starting to creep forward. She sighed in relief.
“Yeah, it got his attention. Then, I just had to wait for him to calm down enough to tell me what started it all.”
“The sign.” She said too loudly. She flinched and looked at the mirror. Sometimes, a word would trigger a second round of fits. Both boys had bits of granola stuck on their faces and were poking around at the tangle of toys between their seats. They stopped as the van came level with the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles. It was only a little bumper bender, but it got both of them jabbering with excitement. “Looks like whatever you told him worked. He’s over it now.”
“Yeah –you should have just made up something about the sign. You know he never gives up when he wants to know something.”
“Yeah, I wonder where he gets all that stubbornness from!” The dad laughed. “And for your information, Mr. Smartypants, I did make something up! I told him it said for him to be quiet and let me drive!”
“That’s such a mommy lie!” the dad laughed. “No kid would ever believe that!”
“Fine! You’re the better liar. I admit it!” she chuckled, feeling much better now that she was past the wreck and the tantrum both. “What did you tell him anyway?”
“Simple. You saw it near the park, right? I think that’s what he said anyway. It was hard to tell with all the crying. Well, anyway, I told him that he was right, it was a warning sign that told people to Beware of the Flautists!”
The mother burst out laughing. “And my lie was stupid? He actually bought that?”
“Sure he did! I had to explain it, of course. And flautists can be quite dangerous, you know. Especially at the park! If you drive or walk too close, they lash out with those metal flutes. Those things sting! They can break bones, too, or slash holes in tires. You really have to watch out for those flautists, sweetie!”
The mother shook her head even though her husband couldn’t see it. “You’re awful!”
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it? I just hope you guys don’t run into some real flautists today. It might freak him out.”
“Ha, that’d serve him right!” she giggled. “Little Sister’s being really quiet. Is she playing in her room?”
“Nah, she’s been asleep ever since you guys left. I was going to do some laundry, but I decided to play games online instead since you were out goofing around with the boys…”
The mother cursed and hung up the phone. Then, she prayed a third prayer, this time to keep her from killing her husband when she finally made it home.
