Twice a week Emory, Elliot and I head into the city for classes at Chelsea Piers. It’s the only time we drive, except for when we visit grandma and grandpa. Elliot hates driving and has since the day he was born. He screams uncontrollably. It’s gotten better. But he still has a limit, and a lot of time I bribe him with treats to shut him up. I am not proud of this, but a screaming child isn’t something I can tolerate while maneuvering through crosstown traffic.
But yesterday he started screaming right as we exited the Williamsburg bridge, which is a couple of blocks from our home. Instead of throwing some M&Ms into his pie-hole, I decided to try and reason with the kid.
“You know, Elliot. You should realize how lucky you are. You rarely ever drive. You drive, what? Once a week? Sometimes twice? And for maybe 30 minutes. So stop your fussin’, kid!”
“Yeah, Elliot!” Emory agreed. “Stop your screaming!”
And oddly enough, he did.
“You want to hear a CRAZY story, mom?” Em went on. “I have a crazy story. This story is just crazy. My friend Nell told us this story in school. She said, ‘you want to hear a crazy story?’ And we all said ‘YES!’ So she told us this crazy story about a kid she met. You know what that kid did? That kid drove in a car EVERY SINGLE DAY OF HIS LIFE! Isn’t that a crazy story, mom? We all thought so. We told Nell we didn’t believe her. Because that’s crazy.”