The Dictator and the Race Car

Now that I got that last post out of my system I feel like I’m ready to get back on the blogging horse. 

Mark has this racing video game system. It has the bucket seat, the steering wheel, the gear shifty thing… all the bells and whistles.

Otis loves cars. LOVES CARS. Sometimes instead of taking him to a playground I just let him sit in the drivers seat of the car.

You know what’s going to happen, right?

Mark got to set the system up because we cleaned up the spare room. How do babies know that certain activities are not baby appropriate? More importantly, why do they act like they are dying if they aren’t allowed to participate in said inappropriate baby activity?

Well, Otis’s spidey sense let him know that something fun and exciting was happening in the spare room so he does what any 19-month old that doesn’t talk yet does… he stood at the baby gate and hollered. Just sat there yelling. I see male cheerleading in this guy’s future.

When Mark finishes getting all the cords and wheels and knobs in the right place we let Otis into the spare room.

This is where the clouds part and the angels sing. Otis is in heaven.

He can’t believe that THIS steering wheel and THIS gear shift thing and THESE buttons with lights are his. All his. He is over the moon.

We let him hang out in the race car for about 30 minutes. I’ve never seen him so happy to sit in one place for that long. More than the car, he needed his daddy in the room. Every time Mark got up to put a finishing touch on the set up Otis would holler as if to say, “Daddy, none of this is as cool/awesome/special without you watching me.”


He finally finishes playing with the car (ok, we dragged him away, but I think he’d had his fill), and go on with the evening. He ends up falling asleep downstairs and Mark decides to actually go do some racing now that the munchkin is asleep. I carry Otis up the stairs and as we walk by the spare room to our room Otis wakes up just long enough to see his daddy. In the car.


I was positive that I had accidentally pinched him with my bracelet or pulled his arm in a funny direction because Otis sounded like he was in physical pain. I freak out, “What’s wrong, baby? Are you ok?”

Quiet sobs and pointing. Pointing to the spare room.

He wanted the car. His daddy was in the car. He deserved to be in the car, too.

I tested my theory and took him to see Mark. Sure enough the cries stopped. The grinning started. He was ready to race.

It was 10 P.M., People. Ten. Pee. Em.

I took him back to bed. Sobbing. Screaming. Crying. Pointing. Very dramatic pointing.

“Listen, little dude. It is 10 o’clock. You’re going to bed. You aren’t going to play any video games tonight”.

And then it hit me. I just gave my very first parental video game speech TO A BABY.

He could have cared less. He knew his daddy was playing video games and of course kids deserve all the same rights as parents, right? Otis can’t talk, but I’m pretty sure the tone of his wailing meant, “If he gets to then I get to”.

And he was right.

“Mark. Dude. You gotta come to bed. Otis isn’t going to stop until he knows that NO ONE is in his race car”.

Mark is a smart man. He listened to his owners wife and child. Mark came to bed and The Dictator Otis fell fast asleep, secure in the knowledge that no one would be racing without him.

So Moms and Dads, when did you give your first parental speech and what was it about?

One thought on “The Dictator and the Race Car

  1. Secret Agent CT says:

    Macie gets all kinds of speeches. I think her first was the first week we were home from the hospital. I think it was something along the lines of… ” Seriously. seriously? You have cried until you are hoarse. You have a dry diaper. You have eaten (and puked) an entire bottle. It’s like 5 am and you are still crying. It’s enough little baby. I am going to get your father.” lol Everyday that baby had a stern lecture. ha Colic is a beast.

    Maggie just had her first speech two nights ago. It was 4 am and she hadn’t been to sleep yet. I told her “Maggie. It is night, night time. See, it is dark in here. Quit smiling and cooing at me. I am tired. We are supposed to go to sleep now. You are about to get swaddled. (I swaddled her.) Seriously. How am I supposed to be mad when you keep smiling at me. Please let’s go to sleep.” I ended up getting Thomas up and telling him it was now his problem. ha

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