Yeah, so, having a 3-year-old means you always need to be prepared.
Even for a short car ride, I need a toy truck, a cup of water and a cracker. If for some reason I forget one of those things, that will be the time that he asks for one of those things. When I say I don’t have it, then there will be a tears, because he’s 3.
Three year olds are like bitchy teenagers or entitled, demanding celebrities with a pre-show rider that includes a dressing room filled with exactly 17 vanilla candles, a yellow bowl of blue M&Ms and four peacock feathers hanging from the ceiling or they will refuse to go on stage.
The other day I picked Calvin up from preschool. He climbed into his car seat, and he was happy as can be when I strapped him in. He had a toy truck and his graham cracker. I got into the front seat to head home, when he asked for “water, please.” He actually said please. True story.
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I forgot your water. I’ll get you a cup of water as soon as we get home, I promise,” I said.
Then the tears started. Ugh.
“I understand you. I understand you want water,” I told him. “I’m sorry, honey. It will be just a few minutes.”
Then a toy truck hit me in the hand. I turned around to look at him.
“Sorry, truck,” he said.
Threenagers, am I right, folks?
Mighty, mighty good man David thinks by saying “Sorry, truck” Calvin is actually saying, “Sorry about the truck,” and he’s apologizing to me. I, however, am not so sure. I think he was saying sorry to the truck.