One thing you have to know about my kids is that the cars are people to them. I think.
They have names, for one thing. The old Honda is "Stinky" because I often drove it for weeks without cleaning it. The Subaru station wagon is "Bob" and the old Ford Ranger pickup is "Wendy" because of these people. But I don't think I realized how much little Missy cared for these "people" until Monday night.
Bob has been sick, you see, and the man with the "car ambulance" came to take Bob to the "car hospital". OR at least that's how we explained it to a very troubled Missy.The Peeper was delighted, as you'd expect from a boy who loves any and everything vehicle-related. You can see the big grin on his face in the picture below.
And you can see the worried look in Little Miss' eyes. She was silent through the process of getting Bob onto the rollback and towing him away. She was silent as we went back into the house after the excitement was all over. She was quiet for several moments after we closed the door.
And then the little lip began to quiver. The little eyes welled with tears. The small hand came up, the small arm was flung out to where Bob was last seen bumping down the street, and the little piping voice swelled into a pained cry of agonized loss: "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOB!!!"
She wept. Buckets.
She howled and cried and grieved for the departed Bob. She thrashed and whined and was inconsolable for an hour.
We went from baffled to horrified through giggling to desperate. How do you comfort a child grieving for a towed car???
Finally we managed to soothe her by - I'm not kidding - showing her a picture of a white Subaru Legacy from the Internet.
She hasn't asked about Bob since then, and he's ready to come home today. But buried in here somewhere is a cautionary tale, and I think it is "Encourage Your Kids To Name Your Cars At Your Peril".
Or something like that.