My Son Is Jim Carrey

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.

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