Things have been heating up on both fronts since my last entry. The boy continues to use his superior physical assets to attain the prized position. The lass, in the meanwhile, has resorted to being quicker on the draw- if she’s at the car well ahead of her brother, he won’t try an all out frontal assault. My guess is he innately understands the Pyrrhic nature of such a victory.
Of the two, the boy does a better job of maintaining his composure when he loses. He betrays how deeply he wants it though with his running commentary to the effect that people younger than himself shouldn’t be allowed in the passenger seat. He also likes to poke the back of the seat.
The lass, for her part, wears her emotions on her sleeves. Well, no. Her mouth. She screams or whines or cries or some hideous combination of the three.
Heading out for errands today, it was a draw to the car. I had lagged behind because I was gathering a few things in preparation for heading out.
I must have taken longer than I thought, because the lass popped her head in the house.
“Dad, which car are we taking?”
I told her we’d take the big car, since we were going to be grocery shopping, amongst other things. The big car has the most room- otherwise it wouldn’t be the “big” car just the “light blue” car or something else mundane. As I finished up pulling things together, I had a fleeting thought: was the lass clever enough to pull a head fake?
Several seconds later, the boy poked his head in the house.
“Dad, which car are we taking?”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Why, didn’t your sister tell you?”
“Yeah, she said we’re taking the little car.”
It was all I could do not to laugh.
When I got outside, they were both struggling at the “big” car. So I walked straight over to the smaller car and got in.
The lass’ screams are still echoing throughout the countryside.