Toddlers Who Slay and the Aunties Who Drive Them

“When Mamaw’s here, Sis and I get to raise hell—politely.”

Mamaw’s been in town. Which mostly just means I’ve had backup during nap time—finally. While Bubs is down and Mamaw’s on watch, Sis gets to hit the streets with me. Just us girls. We’ve been out to lunch. We’ve made the car wash our second home. And no, I’m not mad about the clean Jeep.

She calls it the “Barbie Jeep,” which is wild because it’s just my regular white Jeep with zero Barbie energy. But back when she was terrified of everything, I called it that once to convince her it was safe. She bought it. Fully. Now she loves it. When I first got it, she wanted to sit in it daily, blast music, and wave through the sunroof like a drunk bridesmaid in traffic. She lives for the drama.

She’s had her nails done (by me, obviously) and hosted a full-blown costume party starring herself. She changed outfits like she was trying on new personalities. It was fashion chaos and I was here for it. Honestly, it’s been so good having that solo time with her again. I need to figure out how to get that with Bubs next—though let’s be real, I’d make dump truck noises all damn day for that kid.

And speaking of Bubs… today we rolled up with no cake pop. He saw my cold brew and lit up—“pop pop!” he says, all hopeful, pointing at the cup. Which we both know is toddler for “Where the hell is my dessert bribe?” I tried, I really did. I explained. I consoled. I apologized like I broke his tiny trust. But that look—the pleading, the “please”, the heartbreak? It wrecked me. Five minutes later we were back in the car, off to get him his treat and hit the beloved car wash again. I swear, by the end of the week I’m gonna have the cleanest Jeep in town and the happiest sugar-high toddler this side of the interstate.

Truth Bomb:
Quality time isn’t always calm—it’s sometimes loud, sparkly, desperate and yelling from the car seat.