It’s the morning rush; daddy is making coffee in preparation to head out the door to work.
Michael is playing with mommy on the couch. I’m trapped at the coffee maker and can only listen to their interchange.
“Are you going to take me to church camp, mommy?”
“Yes, in just a little while.”
“Can I drive with you?”
“Well, no, you have to ride in your car seat like always,” she said.
“Pleeeeeeease?” he asked in his typical attempt to wheedle his whim into her permission. Please note that Michael has NEVER ONCE ridden in the car without being firmly secured in a five-point car seat. Never. Where he gets the idea that maybe this time it’ll be okay to skirt the law, I don’t know.
“No, Michael. The policeman will get mad!”
“Aw, mom!” he complains.
“Drive with me here! Let’s go!” she says, forming a “car” with her lap and setting him on the edge of her knees. “Vroom! Vroom! We’re driving!” They both have a grip on the imaginary steering wheel.
“Yay! I’m steering with you!” Michael is totally into the game now.
“Uh, oh! A policeman! We’d better go really fast!” my wife says, grinning at me.
“What?” I shout from across the room, not pleased with this particular turn of events.
“Don’t worry, I’ll shoot him! Bang!” Michael says, now fully engaged in an imaginary felony. “There, now we can keep going!”
My mouth is dropped open in utter horror, and Michael’s Mommy is choking back laughter.
“So, we’re training him to end up on ‘COPS’, then?” I ask, incredulous.
I get no answer, as my wife is laughing way too hard.
If he ends up on Fox wearing a set of handcuffs and no shirt with a cop’s knee in his back, you’ll at least know why. I’m not bailing him out.