“Ugh,” he huffed ten minutes into a five-hour drive.
“Arrgggh,” he continued.
“What’s the problem?” I asked my youngest son.
“It’s my underwear,” he said.
He went on to explain that his underwear was bothering him. He was restless in his seat and clearly getting more and more agitated as the drive went on. He asked if he could unbuckled his seat belt so that he could do some adjusting. I told him to be quick. I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw him picking and pulling at his pants.
“Ugh!” he screamed.
“I’ve got a wedgie!”
I asked him if he needed me to pull over because we both knew a five-hour drive wasn’t going to be fun for anyone in the car if this kept up. He didn’t want to stop.
“Why don’t you just take your underwear off?” I suggested.
He balked, “And then what dad? Wear none?”
If was as if I asked him to do the impossible.
“Just pull your pants down,” chimed in his older brother.
I turned back to focus on driving. It got quiet. Too quiet. Then there were giggles. Then laughter. I turned my head to see my son sitting in his booster seat with his pants at his ankles… and a smiley face on his butt cheek.
And a brother with a pen in his hand.
“Knock it off,” I said. The eternal words of a parent behind the wheel.
The next two hours were peaceful – one child asleep and another gazing out the window.
We stopped at a rest stop to pee.
And that’s when I heard, “You better pull your pants up before we pull over.”
We got out and peed.
The wedgie never returned…