Yesterday, I went to a baseball game with a friend while Ed took Connor to swim lessons. Apparently the lessons went pretty well. Afterwards, Ed took Connor out to the car, put Connor's dry clothes on him, and then promptly shut the trunk of the car - with all of his stuff (keys, wallet, Connor's shoes, etc.) now safely locked inside. This meant Ed had to carry Connor quite a distance home. As they left the parking lot, Connor gave one last glance toward the car and said "bye-bye, maroon car". It's as if was saying. Hey, it's been nice knowing you, but if Dad can only take one of us home, I'm glad it's me. Maybe sometime we'll cross paths again and we can reminisce about the good ol’ days, me honking your horn, you sitting in the driveway.
After they got a bit away from the car, Connor looked at Ed and said “Connor want de bottle” at which point, Ed had to relay the potentially heartbreaking news that the promised bottle was in the trunk of the maroon car with all the other stuff. This is when Connor realized they had a serious situation on their hands. He looked Ed right in the eyes so that Ed could grasp the enormity of the situation. In a very serious tone Connor commanded “get the bottle”. He was perfectly willing to give up the car, but the bottle, now Ed had gone too far.
I told Ed when I got home, "well, at least you didn't lock the baby in the car" - something I had managed to accomplish in the city when Connor was only a few weeks old. For those who are curious, if a frantic mom flags down an innocent pedestrian on a smoke break and babbles something about her very small baby being locked in the car, that very kind pedestrian will pull out his cell phone, call 911, and within minutes, a giant hook-and-ladder truck and a back-up fire department van will show up to rescue the baby, who slept through it all.