Why I Married Him

Long weekend. Lots of rain. St. Patty's party. Do the math.

Giant FOUR Year Old in love with ride-on vehicle. Zooms from room to room. All the freakin' time.

It makes a horrible, terrible noise.

The girls are rehearsing a "show" for us with music so loud -- and bad -- it just sucks the air out of the house.

At countdown-two-hours to Sunday night bedtime, That Man erupts:

"OK" he says (very kinda calmly mind you).

"OK!" he says, a little louder, a little less calm: "I'm just done. We're all done. I think we've had enough."

Girls get it -- long rainy weekend and all -- and turn the speakers down. They know that the show is the bomb and why rehearse any more any way? It'll change a thousand times when they perform it.

But that boy? He zooms in on his car.

"You want quiet?" he says.

Giant Four Year Old screeches the "car" to a halt. He looks his giant dad in the eye with an amazing beyond-his-years sneer, makes a three-point painfully noisy turn and kicks ass outta there, tucking his heels up to zoom the whole incredibly cool way out, not before saying, over his shoulder, defiant chin up:

"I'll GIVE you quiet."

That Man, he looks at me, and he's laughing.

I know in that instant that he loves us more than I could ever have imagined, but I also know that he wishes that the Kid would've added, for comic perfection: "motherfucker."

And That Man is right: that would've been way more funny. Totally wrong and really bad, we'd both agree, but yeah, way more funny.