Hauling

Oh, those short people.

I took Sprout to Auntie's house (daycare) this morning on my way to work, and at some point we had ground to a halt - over dandelions. As in, he wanted to stay there all day and pick dandelions, and I wanted to get to work on time. He picked one and got back on his bike. He picked two and got back on his bike. When I ixnayed the third stop absolutely, I knew it was going to be ugly.

The conversation disintegrated after a few negotiations, and at some point I found myself hauling two backpacks, a squalling three-year-old, and a tricycle for a half-block until another daycare parent came to my rescue.

The Sprout and I generally get along pretty good, but occasionally there's a standoff. What always amazes me is how the short person's brain can, in an instant, stop being mad and start being happy or amused. Wow. I had to carry Sprout up the stairs to Auntie's apartment too, and mid-staircase, he started pulling himself up with the handrail. In zero to sixty, we went from "I'm not going up to Auntie's house!" mad to "Hey, Mama, this is fun!!" happy.

And then he kissed me goodbye with a big smile on his face, and I shrugged off my own grumpies and headed off to the world of work. Whew.