Tonight we are driving in the extended cab F-250, nice room yet still a bit crowded for six.
Finally, I let loose with “Stop whining and complaining.” Pause. I know they’re thinking, “I’m not whining and complaining.” I add, “If you’re not whining and complaining then Stop. Talking.”
Har, they say.
They live for these moments. Like when I told them they were going through too much bottled water: “Stop drinking so much water.” Or when the DVR was rapidly filling and I mentioned, “You guys must watch more TV.”
Back to the truck. The chatter continues. Dad bellows and son replies:
Dad: Stop fighting!
We’re not fighting. We’re arguing.
Dad: Do. Not. Quibble.
Son, with a dangerous grin: I’m not quibbling; I’m disagreeing.
Dad can no longer keep a straight face. We love these hostages.