I Want to Drive It

Jacob and Daddy don’t spend a lot of time in the car, but the time they do spend seems to be quite the bonding experience.  When asked, “What kind of musica do you like?”  Jake frequently answers, “Reggae!”  Just like his mama.

Not only does he rule the roost, he also rules the mobile coop.  We frequently hear the following commands with regard to how we drive, the volume of the radio and the windows:  “Faster!”  “Two hands on the wheel!”  “Louder.  Super louder!”  “Slower.”  “Too cold, guys, too cold.”  And he wants to drive… everything.

We used to see airplanes flying at 10,000 feet and he’d exclaim, “I want to touch it.  Reach it, Mama.  Reach it.”  Now it’s simply, “I want to drive it.”

If we see a cute car, “I want to drive it.”  A fire engine, “I want to drive it.”  A Harley Davidson, “I want to drive it.”  And after several short road trips over the last few weekends, any “cractor” (tractor) is fair game.  Bulldozers, backhoes, “snorts” (I’m sure the parents of little kids will get that last reference…).

On Labor Day we decided to drive down to Carmel Valley for lunch at the roadside stand.  Everywhere we looked there were rusty old tractors that he had to drive.  They seem to be doing Obama roadwork all across California with the most irresistible tractors and heavy machinery just beckoning to a two-and-a-half year old trapped in his car seat.

On the way home from Carmel, I talked James into stopping at Dennis the Menace park in Monterey.  The place was a zoo.  But I found ten bucks in the sand so both Jake and I had a great time.  Jacob and I promised to play just a little bit longer and then we would meet Daddy and Natesy at the car.  On our way back, I spotted a tractor that appeared to be unsupervised.  “Jacob, if you have really good behavior, I’ll let you drive that tractor.”  All smiles and sweetness.

I get him out of the stroller and put him up on the big filthy seat.  There are tons of levers and buttons and gadgets but fortunately, he seems content to sit on the seat and hold onto the steering wheel.  I’m on the lookout for a grumpy old man to come bursting out of nowhere, wagging a finger and telling us to get down.  Luckily, I don’t see anyone.  I take a long, casual look around me to survey the scene.

I notice this particular tractor is parked next to a tall fence.  Across the grass I see hundreds of headstones.  The building I had imagined would house the tractor police was possibly a mausoleum.  OK, it was definitely a mausoleum.

I turned back to the backhoe, knowing that this was no ordinary tractor…  this was a grave digger.  Jakey was having a blast.  “Allrighty then, let’s go find Daddy and Baby Nate!”

Am I a bad mother?