In the cool morning air, we gathered our presents and piled into the car. Now this wasn't any ordinary SUV, I might add, but one of great value. Something I had been wishing to drive for years. You see, my poor Suzuki had a mishap up on the mountain a few weeks ago, leaving my husband, mom, youngest son, two small nephews and aunt from Florida stranded in the snow. The alternator died, draining the battery in the frigid cold, but that is a story for another day. The car we are going to talk about is a borrowed Porsche Cayenne with an interior the color of diarrhea and mental issues to numerous to count, but it had heated leather seats, so it was fine. We all piled into the Porsche and away we went to our Christmas breakfast with my side of the family.
Christmas carols were blasting from the speakers and I was merrily annoying the whole family with my own rendition of Mariah Cary's All I want for Christmas, when my middle son spoke up. "Mom, I'm done with my toast."
I glanced into the back seat to see a half eaten piece of bread that I wouldn't even consider toast smeared with a fairly good helping of Nutella outstretched in the hand of my six year old.
Quickly, I rolled down the back window and instructed him to throw the rest out into the cool morning air.
"You wan't me to throw my toast out the window?" Asked my six year old.
"Yes... toss it out the window quickly and roll it back up. It's getting cold in here." We were currently traveling at freeway speeds and the temperature was dropping to match the cold thirty-two degrees it was outside. "Just throw it."
My son shrugged and smiled like the wild child that he was and chucked the bread with all his might... Right into the wind. The force of the draft caught the toast, carrying it back into the window, depositing it Nutella-side-down on the window sill.
"OMG, kid. This isn't our car." I flipped around in my seat the best I could while staying buckled, and flicked the toast out the window. To my horror, there was a blob of dark chocolate colored smear on the diarrhea interior. "Don't touch it. I'll clean it up when we get to your aunts house."
Like all good mothers, I believe that my children will listen to me when I tell them to do something. Yeah, no. My oldest chimes in. "Mom, Ronan's licking the car."
I turn around again to see one of the most disturbing things I saw all Christmas. My six year old was attempting to clean up all the Nutella with his tongue, making the mess worse. "I told you not to touch it."
My six year old grinned. "I'm not touching it. I'm licking it."
And that is how we learned that toast always lands butter side down... Especially on Christmas...