This morning we were back to some flagrant two year-old behavior. We took Evan to Toys-R-Us over the weekend and bought him some new things to play with. He fell in love with a three-pack of mini monster trucks and immediately adopted one of them as his current favorite toy. It’s a neon green monster truck with giant wheels, a skull and the name “Grave Digger” emblazoned on the side (what, doesn’t everyone want their toddler playing with the Grave Digger?). He’s named this vehicle “Aunt Ryann’s Truck.” For the record, there is an Aunt Ryann, but she drives a blue Jeep. And no, it does not have a skull. So we’re not exactly sure where this specific nomenclature came from. Anyway, he gets really upset if Aunt Ryann’s Truck is not within sight. At all times.
So this morning we were happily driving to daycare until he spied Aunt Ryann’s Truck sitting on the seat just out of reach. Since we were only about two minutes from our destination, AND we aren’t allowed to bring toys from home to daycare, I knew that giving him the truck would be a total disaster. Until I parked the car, I heard nothing but “want Aunt Ryann’s Truuuuuuuck!” Then it went from bad to worse. I went to unbuckle his car seat and he grabbed the sides of his car seat and wouldn’t let go. Tears poured out of his eyes. I finally pried his hands free and muscled him out of the car. Man, if physically yanking your kid out of the car doesn’t make you feel like mother of the year, I don’t know what does.
He cried all the way into the house, pleading for the truck. I couldn’t find anything to distract him from his wailing. Finally, I had to give him a big hug and just leave him there so I could go to work.
Two year-olds. Charming? Most of the time. Rational? Not so much.