I've loaded the girls into the car to head to main street to refill a prescription with papers in hand, drop off dry cleaning, make an ATM deposit, purchase stamps, and put a bag of used clothes into the donation bins. A friend of mine called as I finished buckling in Lindsay. Since I had just handed her several crackers, I figured I had a few minutes to chat as she ate them and Lauren played with her Leapster (yes, video games aren't great developmentally particularly for a kid who already watches too much television, but it is a Car Only Toy and it has the miraculous effect of producing silence in my car). I miscalculated the conversation length, and when I got into the car, Lindsay was fussing. As I pulled the car out of the driveway, she formed a single word letting me know her agita.
"Drinky."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Linds. I'll give you your drink after we park, honey."
She wailed loudly. You are not understanding me, woman. "Drinky, Mama."
"Ok, sweetie. Lauren, is Lindsay's drink in the back seat?"
"Nope."
"Darn, it must be in the trunk in her diaper bag," I replied, saying a silent prayer that I'd left it in there earlier when we went to the gym.
Lindsay put her hands up to her face, sobbing.
"I'll get it for you as soon as we stop."
Lindsay cried loudly. In the middle of a great sob, she shouted, "I want my drinky, Mama!"
I bit my lip to hold back a chuckle. I'd made her so angry, she uttered her first sentence. "In a moment, Lindsay. Mama's driving."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Well, congratulations! But don't expect any points for that one. That's a sneaky trick of speech therapists the world over.
Think of the fun we're going to have when she has an essay to pump out in high school! The stress we might have to cause! I'm getting excited chills just thinking about it! Would you please hurry her through the boring, essay-free, primary years?
Post a Comment