It was time to go. And we needed to not be late. I had work at the other end of the commute.
But Landon doesn't know when we need to hurry and when he can take his sweet time. In reality, all of Landon's time is sweet. A slow, stumbling, exploring kind of time that makes no distinctions for work days.
We got outside the house and Landon just went the other way. Toward the house and the decorative rocks that were much more interesting than loading up into a car.
"Ok, Landon, I'll just load the car first, and then you can meet me," I say. I pack up his diaper bag, and food bag, and my bag of books going back to the library, and my purse, and my work bag....and I'm finally ready for Landon--who has no intention of walking down the concrete path to the car and getting in. He's kind of on a "choose your own adventure" and the plot doesn't involve the car.
So I ask him to come. And I call to him. He just stares at me. Not moving. I get in the car. I roll down the window and say, "I'm leaving. I need you to come now." And still he stares. I start the car.
I have backed myself into a corner and my son is totally going to call my bluff! I told him I was leaving and yet here I sit, cajoling him to get a move on and join me for the load up. In this battle of the wills, I simply can't leave him there to prove that when mama says, "come on," she really means it.
It is only when I start to roll the car down the driveway that Landon's eyes get big, and he starts hightailing it my way...cutting across the grass to take the fastest route.
I put it in park. Set the emergency brake. "Oh? You're coming? Great. Because I really didn't want to leave without you, you know."
Next time, we'll just have to go back to my carrying a kicking, crying, writhing sweet love of my life to the car if we need to. None of these misguided negotiations where I'm in danger of losing my credibility.
That look on his face was pretty classic, though!