GAIL WHITE The joys of summer are here, and kids have nothing better to do
I was being held hostage in my car by a 4-year-old with a hose.
As I pulled into the driveway after work one hot afternoon, I saw my child in the front lawn running around with the hose. I marveled at what great playmates a child and water are. I could see the smile on his face from the road. He was having a ball.
Stopping in front of the house, I leaned out the window to talk with the water squirter. He was soaking wet from head to toe. His shirt was off, lying in a wet puddle on the cement. His shorts were sagging from the weight of the water. His legs were covered in grass clippings, his toes brown with mud. Part of his hair was matted to his head, the rest was sticking out at various points, completely disheveled.
"Are you having fun?" I asked, knowing the answer.
At that moment, the cute, little, wet child transformed. The sweet, playful smile left his face, replaced by an evil, devilish grin.
I rolled up my window at lightning speed. Just as it reached the top, water pelted the glass.
He held the hose, pointed at the window for at least one full minute. Meanwhile, I scrambled around closing all other open windows.
The second barrage
When he stopped and the water had drained down the glass, I looked at him disapprovingly through the window. This prompted him to shoot the window again.
After the second barrage, I smiled nicely at the armed child and said, "Very funny, David. Now, Mommy's going to get out of the car."
He shot the window again.
I crawled across the seat and started to open the door on the passenger side.
He shot over the car.
I paused to assess the situation. I had places to go this evening, so having my hair pelted with water would be a major inconvenience. Looking at my clothes, the skirt was cotton -- no problem. My blouse, however, was dry clean only. A 10-yard dash into the house would cost me $5. I had come to a conclusion.
It was time to yell.
"David, put that hose down right now!" I yelled from my prison on wheels.
He stopped squirting. "What?" he asked.
"Drop the hose!" I yelled louder.
I believe he truly did not hear me the first time I yelled. But my incoherence gave his devilish mind an idea.
"What, Mom?" he asked again.
Trickery
I fell for the ploy. I began rolling my window down to relay my harsh instructions. Luckily for me, his finger was trigger happy and he began squirting before I had the window down far enough to do any damage to my face.
I was now furious.
The car was becoming increasingly hotter. It had been a stressful day of work. I had things to do in the house. I just wanted to get out of my car!
I laid my head on the steering wheel and pondered the reality that this child that I carried inside of me for nine long months ... whose boo-boos I have kissed when he was hurt ... whose hand I have held when he was scared ... who has caused me more sleepless nights than I can count ...is now holding me hostage with a hose!
Just as I was about to sink into deep despair, contemplating how I had come to this point in my life, I lifted my head and saw my 14-year-old walking out of the house.
Frantically, I waved and pointed.
"Get the hose!" I pleaded.
For a moment, I panicked. Robert could join forces with my captor. Together, they could hold me hostage indefinitely, making all sort of demands -- ice cream every night for dinner, a swimming pool in the back yard, no set bedtime. ...
"No," I thought. He didn't come out to join forces; he wants something from me. I was safe.
Robert, however, was not.
He quickly analyzed the situation and in his best big-brother voice, addressed the 4-year-old.
"David, put down the hose," he said sternly.
David looked at his big brother. He adores Robert and for a moment the sweet, innocent smile returned to the child's face.
Then, feeling the hot handle of the squirter, the devil grin reappeared.
Robert saw it the same time I did.
"Don't squirt me!" he began yelling. "David! ..." His voice became garbled as water filled his mouth.
David squirted him from head to toe.
After a short struggle, Robert retrieved the hose from the devil child, and I got out of the car.
Angrily, we looked at the 4-year-old who, without his hose, looked sweet and innocent again.
"Clean yourself off and come in the house," I ordered.
"OK," he said with remorse in his voice.
After changing my clothes, I looked out the kitchen window to check on the child's progress.
Indeed, he looked much cleaner. The mud was washed from his feet. The grass was gone from his legs.
In fact, I could tell he was cleaner from head to toe as he stood cleaning his shorts -- which he was holding in his hands.
gwhite@vindy.com