Tears, Traffic, and Toddler Time

A long, tedious day in the office spent analyzing literally hundreds of e-mails sent over five years ago. It was a relief to finally get on the road and make the drive home. Surprisingly, a forecast for severe weather during rush hour had cleared the roads, and the drive was quick.  I arrived home to find a toddler playing ball in the driveway with his daddy--a welcome sight.  Squealing hugs and slobbery kisses from a little boy who smells like a wet puppy are the perfect end to my workday and the perfect beginning to the family dinner hour.

Fortunately, I had cooked over the weekend: lasagna, always a hit with the family gallery. RJ ate like a man. I didn't know it was possible for this little boy, who can exist for days on two bites of waffle and a package of fruit snacks, to eat so much. Dinner ran late, and soon it was bath time.

While dinner was a roaring success, bath time involved roaring of another kind. RJ could be heard bellowing two doors down. On a normal night, a few minutes of collecting Hot Wheels to play car wash cures the travesty of a bath. Not tonight. Tears and wailing. Face screwed into a thousand grimaces, he screamed through hair washing, thrashed through bottom washing, and finally buried his tears in my shoulder as we made our way to pajama time.

Even his blanket couldn't cure this toddler's woes. So, at his sniffling request, we set off into the night time traffic of Edmond.  Cool air conditioning, chocolate milk, and blankie all tucked carefully into his car seat, we set out. We always head west, then north, as Jack Johnson plays on the stereo. Most nights, RJ doesn't learn anything about making banana pancakes (track 3 on the CD), but tonight, he made it through track 3. And 4. And 5. Defeated, I returned home with a very sad little boy.

We snuggled into the rocking chair where he finally admitted, "Ry scared." I can't imagine what could be so frightening to a two-year old, and I don't really want to know. Hearing whispered promises that mommy will be there when he awakens in the night,  an exhausted little boy snuggled into my shoulder and finally (finally) gave in to sleep.

And I eased my way back to the office for the final stop on the mommy docket: the e-mail traffic is slow tonight.