superman can't save me now
If I've learned anything as a parent, it is that getting my children to obey any rule or suggestion requires repeating my request over and over again, and any car trip, no matter how brief, will have to include - per child and at minimum - six toys, four books, a snack, change of clothes and stamps for the postcards we'll send to our friends and relatives to share our adventures with them.
So taking these rules to heart, join us, won't you, as my sons and I visit the bank one recently fine afternoon. In the backseat the boys have created a pocket of air amidst the toys and are waging a battle of epic proportion with their assorted action figures. A glance in the rear view mirror indicates the black Power Ranger is really in over his head as he comes gut to helmet with the Incredible Hulk. For back up, Captain America lurks deceptively over the arm of my youngest's booster seat. Sure, the jaunty captain typically serves for good, but today, I firmly believe his motives are questionable.
Soon, the battle seems to be at a peak and Captain America, sensing a need to help the tiny Power Ranger before he opts to make a dive from the open window on the passenger side of the mini, has screamed through the air to take over. With each blow to the solar plexes that Captain America takes from the larger, mightier and way pissed off Hulk, my youngest (reprising his role as the Hulk for today's episode) exclaims "OH! Now THAT's gonna hurt!"
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.
Honestly, I am a girl. Huge surprise, I know. Because I'm a girl, I know little about super heroes and whether or not Captain American and the Incredible Hulk operate on the same side of justice. If their names were Britney and Noel and their hair was stylable and they came with a cool Hummer you could drive them on dates to, I would be so into them. But they are not. And I am not able to hear this anymore:
"OH! Now THAT'S gonna hurt!!"
At my limit, I glance back and suggest my son think of another way to convey the pain. For example, "Goodness, that's an unfortunate turn of events you've just experienced." Or "Perhaps you should have just stayed in bed today, Captain America." Good sport that he is, my son said he'd think of something else to say, and good sport that I am, I thanked him.
Three seconds passed and I heard the blow of fully articulated plastic feet making contact with Captain America again. And I wait to hear what springs forth.
"OH! Now THAT'S gonna..." my son yells out passionately, then pauses for just a second as our eyes meet in the rear view mirror, then says quietly, "...hurt when I can tell you about it."
Labels: remember when Michael Stipe had hair and wasn't scary? Yeah. Me too. I dug the Stipe back then.








