Car rides with children are awful, there is no real way around it. Unless the little monsters fall asleep you are bound to hear whining about every little thing that can be acquired by the senses. It is too hot, it is too cold, it is too loud, it is too quiet, or my personal favorite, tell him to stop touching me. Jaxson and Wyatt naturally ride in the back seat of the vehicle in their car seats, and while I do not mind driving one or the other around, with both of them it the equivalent of hosting the Rose Bowl parade in the back seat, only the smell is probably worse. The source of this trouble is almost always the same child, Jaxson.
Usually, a car ride involves Wyatt minding his own business and Jaxson being a regulation jerk. He enjoys kicking Wyatt, stealing the toy of out his hand, eating his snack, and drinking Wyatt’s milk. You know, the things that a person does at a formal dinner party. Jaxson’s back seat manners would make Emily Post want to commit seppuku, and the average parent would laugh as there is really nothing you can do when you are driving the vehicle. I never understood the phrase my father would yell, “Don’t make me come back there!” as he drove the car. What in the blue hell was he going to do? Hop over the front seat of a moving vehicle on the highway and discipline me as the car drove across three lanes of traffic into a bookmobile or maybe the pope-mobile. For that reason, I refrain from shouting that phrase at my kids while driving. I pull over then yell it at my hellspawn.
About a week ago, Becky and I, along with the two imps, drove to the farm where we belong to a co-op. We picked up our produce let the boys look at their true love, tractors, then packed them up for the ride home. On the ride home, Jaxson was mad that the tractor was not available for joy riding and began his routine of being an internationally renowned pain in the ass. He hit Wyatt, stole his snack, and kicked him, but something was different. Wyatt did not cry. He smirked and made a fart noise (ppfFFT!) as loud as his little lungs could muster. Jaxson stopped completely and burst into tears. Sir Jaxson, the Slayer of the Dragon of Makayla’s Room, cried hysterically. Naturally, Wyatt continued making the fart noise, sounding like a bullfrog being deflated once every three to five seconds, and Jaxson continued to wail.
After roughly fifteen minutes of listening to ppFFTTT and the tear-laden howls of the Dragonslayer, Becky and I were now in tears of laughter. For once in a great while, Wyatt had the upper hand and he naturally pressed his advantage. Now was no longer deflating bullfrogs, but instead began starting a chainsaw.
After another five minutes, we finally told Wyatt to stop, as Jaxson cried for him to do so with each noise. Wyatt emitted a meek little squeaker, pooooft, and stopped completely and started laughing. He had found the weakness of his brother…
Car rides will never be the same again for our family, and the Dragonslayer has been tamed by flatulence.