My son has an addiction. My memory already escapes me as to when this obsession began for him exactly but it was before he finished his first year of life and has steadily become a stronger and mighty affliction.
Cole is consumed by all and anything to do with TRUCKS. When I state this most people will nod as if they understand that all little boys love toys with wheels. But I have been around other little boys at Cole's playdates and while at play areas and I have yet to see the desire in them for all things TRUCKS as I witness daily as Cole spends from dawn to dusk with his TRUCKS. It is the first word after MOMMY that he utters as he wakes and typically is the last word spoken before we turn out the lights at bedtime "night night trucks". Lately, he even wants a truck near his bed. He checks again and again after lights are out to ensure it is indeed within close grasp.
He trudges around, typically tripping over his trucks, as he lugs them around from room to room. He fills them with an assortment of items depending on their carrying capacity; board books, blocks, balls, blankets, crayons, cheerios, popcorn, and the occasional odd load such as dryer lint. He then proceeds to either inadvertently dump his cargo which sends him into an instant fit or he purposely unloads his freight in the middle of the kitchen as I attempt to prepare dinner while using the sharpest knife we have.
Trucks of varying dimensions are strewn in our cars, on all three floors of the house, in the bathtub, in our diaper bag, in his pockets, in and under the couch, and most recently, I found one on the shelf in the refrigerator.
He has his favorite trucks that he runs back and forth from our den to our living room (via the kitchen). I love that this exercise gives him a way to channel his energy however, on tile floors, the sound of plastic wheels screeching their way repeatedly after the 67th lap sometimes has a grating effect on my nerves. He used to have the backyard as the outlet for this activity but with our subzero winter temperatures and the amount of snow piled high since late November we are housebound and teetering on the brink of acquiring dreaded cabin fever hence our main floor has become a racetrack and highway of sorts.
Cole likes to be involved in whatever I am doing most of the time. Something I cherish and detest, two intense feelings blended together to form what I define as a "mixed emotion". It makes getting most tasks accomplished a sheer test of my patience. However I realize the importance of including him and showing him how to help and that trumps my internal dialogue which is normally taunting me since innately I am not a patient person. Many times to allow him to be a part of my task, I will bring a beloved truck with us to distract him which then permits me to get at least some chores DONE. He can run them over the counter as I cook or wipe down his trucks with a wet washcloth as I clean the bathroom or race ahead of me with his trucks as I vaccuum making it a game as I chase him with the Dyson.
But the clincher to this tale about trucks occurred last evening as I was cleaning up the spilled snacks on the counter as he stood on the dining room chair zooming his yellow Tonka crushing the Chex Mix into smaller and smaller pieces. I was getting a bit frustrated and redirected him to the other side of the counter where he promptly opened up our convection oven and tried to jam his Tonka into the toaster. He continued to bang and push (as I tried to quickly to clean up the aforementioned mess) with every intention of fitting his truck into the space. He looked at me blankly as if to say "mom, why won't this go in there"?? He then rammed his truck one last futile time and then began to fuss to which I retorted "Cole, please don't put your trucks in the toaster". It was an obvious remark to make considering the situation but I began to laugh as I realized how comical it sounded. So that goes into his scrapbook as one of the funnier "things you never thought you hear yourself saying out loud" kind of declaration.
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