You Know You're a . . .

You know you're a mom of a preschooler when. . .

. . . you get into the minivan after stuffing the kids into their respective car seats and finding niches for everyone's backpacks, lunch boxes, jackets, and toys they just can't live without. You start up the van and turn on some "calming" music, hoping for a safe and uneventful drive home. About two minutes into the drive, your youngest (who has a very strong tendency to hurt himself on a regular basis) starts screaming and carrying on as if he were about to die. He screams, "Help, help, emergency!" and although you try to calmly ask what's wrong, you don't get a satisfactory response. You try using your rearview mirror to assess the damage, if any, but of course, you can't see anything. You continue to drive, but the screams grow louder and more forceful, making all sorts of crazy things go through your head. Maybe he is tangled in his seat belt and is slowly choking himself to death! Maybe he is sick and needs to throw up. Maybe there's a giant fire ant in his car seat that is systematically biting his leg. . . Finally, in frustration, you pull over to the side of the road and open the side door. You inspect the little man to see what could possibly be such an emergency. Ah, yes, of course. He wants to drive his little Hot Wheels car up his pant leg as a tunnel, but he can't quite fit the car into the pant leg. After the "an emergency is only if you're bleeding or dying, young man, and that certainly wasn't called for to scream like that!", you then calmly show him the right way to get the Hot Wheels car in his pant leg and get back in the drivers seat to drive home. It is THEN that you know that you are the mom of a preschooler! (or two, or three.. . .)