I get a little annoyed when my kids throw garbage on the floor of the van. Normally, I discourage the consumption of food and drink while driving, and my kids know not to even ask for ketchup if they are lucky enough to get a drive-through meal. Despite this, the floor of the van looks like the inside of my toaster mixed with a city street following a ticker-tape parade.
I persevere in my efforts to keep the van in order, and even on our long journey East reminded my children to be tidy. At one stop, I handed out lollipops and waved a plastic bag at Jenny. "This is for trash," I told her as I placed it within arm's reach.
Back on the road, I hear Peter announce matter-of-factly: "Garbage!" He's my best one for keeping things neat and putting trash in the proper receptacles. But he couldn't reach the trash bag.
When his words fell on deaf ears, he repeated it: "Garbage!"
"Garbage!" Same tone, same volume, same response. The kids were engrossed in a video and all other sights and sounds were blocked.
Up front, I had finally had enough. I turned the volume down on the movie (that always gets their attention), and said, "Jenny! Please take the trash from your brother. You have the bag."
"I.am NOT.the GARBAGE WOMAN!"
Well, now. Peter threw the wrapper on the floor.