Trashing the Fear

Since N was tiny, he's hated Thursdays. Thursdays are garbage day, the day when those VERY LOUD trucks come thundering down our VERY SMALL AND NARROW street. Although he is a classic boy with a love of all things truckish, the garbage trucks are just too up close and personal. Frankly, they're just too bone-crushingly LOUD. And to add insult to injury, there isn't just one truck to contend with; there's the garbage truck and the recycling truck and the yard waste truck. THREE TRUCKS. Every Thursday.

But this Thursday was different. He came rushing into the house after walking home from school with Em and Baroy and Snug, yelling back at his father, "I'm going to tell Mommy all about it, Dad!"

"Tell me about what, sweetie?"

And thus began a much-better-than-it-was-but-still-not-entirely-quotable-if-I-want-you-to-understand-it N speech about the garbage truck that had come down the road as they were walking, and how N had decided to wave at the truck driver, and the truck driver "WAVED BACK, Mommy, because he knew that it means he's my best friend now, it was a signal" and how the driver then smiled at N and N "wasn't scared anymore, except I don't love garbage trucks still, but I wasn't scared at all!"

And then he stopped, wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, and said, "Whew. That was a close one." And then he went skipping out of the room to turn on Spongebob Squarepants. Because there's nothing like a little Squidward to reward yourself when you've conquered your fear of garbage trucks. For this week, at least.