Like Mommy Makes Me!

“I wanna go NOW.”

That was my three-year-old son; the terrible twos had extended well into the terrible threes. His favourite response to any question was still, “NO!”

He had refused to acknowledge any need to empty his bladder at our rest stop just fifteen minutes ago; now that we were bowling down the freeway at 120 Km per hour, he had begun to whine about wanting to ‘go’.

He had to be taught discipline, but the consequences were more disastrous to our vehicle and its contents, than it would be to him. So we’d tried reason and persuasion alternately for the last five minutes.

“Niky baba, you’re sooo big now, you can wait until Daddy finds us another Halt.”

My flattery just got a blunt negative, in a familiar obstructive voice.

“Hey, Niks, if you wait just a little bit we’ll come to a bigger Halt, with a play area. I can take you on the slides. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bribery didn’t work either, and his elder sister just got a louder, red-faced repeat of the N-word.

“Niky, if you don’t stop whining, you’re going to be sorry. We asked you over and over at the last stop, if you wanted to go.”

Uh-huh, threats don’t quite cut it either; now he was nearing a rich purple, just short of tantrum level. That was when he had delivered that four word ultimatum that chilled my OCD marrows.

No way am I going to mop up and clean this car with disinfectant and perfumes on top of this already chaotic day.

I whipped out a Jumbo Tupperware ® from the stash in the basket at my feet; it had a spoonful or two of juice still remaining in it. I had him on my lap and unzipped before anyone could say ‘Bathroom Break’ and had him ready and pointed into the container just seconds before he let go.

It seemed to take a long time, and I was wondering what was the normal output of a three year old and hoping it was less than 750 ml.

The container may be of 1 liter capacity, but there’s sloshing and splashing to take into account.

God does listen to prayers, because the tidal wave stopped short, way short, maybe 250 ml in all. But, there was a look of relief on my son’s face that I am sure was no more than the hollow-kneed gratitude I felt.

I had the offending container capped with a practiced clip and snap of the lid. I wonder if the makers would like to get an appreciation letter from me that their products are always as airtight and spill-proof as they claim?

“Eeewww! Are you going to put that back in the basket?”

I met my husband’s strained gaze in the rear-view mirror, “Of course not, Sara, I’ll just wedge it under the seat if you’ll hand me that newspaper. And hand me a couple of tissue too will you?”

“Hand-sanitizer too, Mommy?”

Thank God for daughters.

I cleaned up, as my efficient daughter, a demure and prissy nine-year old, acted as able second.

Terrible Niky was now scrunched up against me, his head on my lap, fast asleep by this time. He looked angelic, as all children do in repose, even the terrors.

“Really, that boy is a menace!” My comment was sotto voce, I didn’t want to wake up the sleeping dragon.

“You should never have had another child Mommy,” wise advice from my precocious daughter.

Sam’s laughter boomed out, “You were such a sweet kid that we thought it would be nice if you had company!”

“Couldn’t you see he wasn’t going to be nice Mommy? He was so ugly when he was born!”

“Well, he’s improved hasn’t he, darling? He’s quite a cute kid now.”

“Huh, if you like floppy haired, fat-bottomed, bug-eyed always-digging-in-mud kids.”

Sam chipped in, “Oh, come on, you know he’s not that bad!”

“Really? This morning he insisted on having the waffles. He pushed the syrup pot off the table and it poured all over your sneakers. He waited till Mommy mashed up the blueberries and then said he hated them mashed. He asked for onion relish on the waffles and then said they smelled ‘yucky’. …”

I relived the scene at our hotel, breakfast time. A total disaster that had ended in our leaving the waffles untouched and feeding him bits from our own plates of scrambled eggs and toast which he happily wolfed, leaving us very little to eat, and then …

“… he sicked up all over, the table, me, Mommy, the nice waiter, everybody!”

She wrinkled her nose, “despite all that sponging down with cologne soaked tissues I think I can still smell the vomit in here!”

“He does that on a regular basis too - wants what he doesn’t have, has what he doesn’t need, needs what he doesn’t get …”

“Okay, Okay!” Sam threw up both his hands in surrender, “I concede defeat kiddo.”

I managed a feeble smile; Sara had her ‘stony’ look on, though.

It took us another two hours, most of it in blessed silence. Sara peered out of her window; I leaned back and closed my eyes, Niky slept on in blissful ignorance of tension.

We reached the hotel to Niky’s waking up wail, “Wanna go for long RIIIIIIDE!”

Getting in involved scooping up and carrying a screaming child who was yelling, “Let go, I wanna go BACK!” and feeling in danger of being arrested for kidnapping.

We reached the room with one chambermaid, one bellboy and the Floor Manager following us.

Sam hauled Niky to the toilet immediately; "Come on Niky, you probably need to 'go' by now!"

Niky resisted, but that would have been no more embarrassing than usual, except for the audience.

They all heard his wail, “NO! Not here! In her hand, like Mommy makes me!”

The staff vanished.

We’d saved tips but lost reputations.

Word Count: 990 words


Written for The Writer's Cramp ▼

28-29 November 2014: Write a STORY or POEM about a holiday travel calamity faced by a family of four (2 adults, 2 kids).
*Cramp Winner*