The Joy of Separate Cars

It's Friday night, and I'm driving home from Fellini's with Timothy and Stephen in the car. My wife is behind us with Jonah and Sam in her own car, having met us for dinner. The boys and I had been at soccer practice; she had spent the day at the hospital with her sister, welcoming William Elliot to the world (hello William, or Elliot, we love you either way).

My phone rings, and I am in dread. My company acquired a new customer today, and it's one of those people who has risen to the top of a small company by yelling a lot (ensuring that the small company will get no larger, by the way). I don't want to answer the phone if it's this person, because I don't want to have to explain -- while in the car with two wild & crazy boys -- how it's not our fault if this person's employees can't get us the information we require to do our job.

I look at the phone, and it's my wife. A sigh of relief.

She's whispering, "Let me pass you," which doesn't make sense. She tries again, "It's a race, and Jonah wants to win. Let me pass you."

We slow down. Her car passes us, and I see Jonah in the way-back, arms pumping in the air. You can almost hear his triumphant yells through the ether as they pull ahead.

Stephen, from the backseat, gets upset, "They're winning!" Apparently this is a thing my kids do. I don't drive enough to know.

We follow my wife home, down our street, up our driveway, and into the garage. Jonah, already out of his car seat, is jumping. "We won! We won! You loseded!"

There are times to stand on principle, and there are many principles here to be stood upon (sportsmanship, grammar), but Friday night, way past bedtime, following a good soccer practice, and with cookies to be made is not the time to make that stand.

In my opinion.