Tuesday, November 24, 2009

That's right, I am not above using my kids as a shield.

Backing the truck up in the driveway so I can unload the back. Just as I am braking and thinking "Whoa, it looks like I might be getting too close on that side...." I hear this sickening crunch. Monkey says from the back "Uh, oh. Thats not good. You banged." Um. Yep. I did. I pull forward a little and get out to check the damage, unload the groceries and get back in. "You break it?" Monkey asks. Yes. Yes I did. Now what? I ponder my best course of action as I make my way to where Sgt. G and Motormouth are waiting for us for lunch. Sgt. G loves his truck. Not as much as he loves me, but the truck doesn't ask him for anything, and it never is moody or cranky or sarcastic. It doesn't nag him, it doesn't make him fold laundry, it just waits for him and helps aid in his escape, so some days his love for it comes a close second I am sure. I know that if I was in a real accident he would only be concerned for my safety, but I hit our garage, it isn't like there is much chance for injury, so there is no sympathy card to be played. I know I have to tell him, but how and when? Then I look in the rearview mirror and formulate the perfect plan. There sits Monkey, looking all sweet and cute, with his little mohawk and big eyes. I'll just have him tell for me. The kid finally talks, I should get something good out of that! "Monkey, Mommy broke the truck. Can you go up to Daddy and tell him that Mommy broke the truck?" Monkey looks up from his DS game. "Tell Daddy?" A look of horror slowly washes over his face "NO!! NO tell Daddy!!!" "Please? just tell Daddy that Mommy broke the truck, it's okay, he won't be mad (at you)"

Monkey glares at me "NO. YOU do it."

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