Can I have your keys, please?

Hugo wants to do everything himself now that he is two-and-a-half. He and I are getting along just fine in this phase. I’m proud of his perception and ability to imitate what he sees me and his father doing. Patience abounds.

Usually when I get home from picking him up at school, I let Hugo climb into the driver’s seat and mess with the controls. He hasn’t pulled off the rearview mirror in over a year, and I can deal with strange stereo settings along with the wipers coming on when I start the car. But last week, it wasn’t enough anymore.

“Can I have your keys, please?” Hugo asked as I unbuckled him from the car seat. He didn’t take my refusal very graciously, either. I’ve told him a few times now that he has to be 17 before he can actually drive a car so he’d better stop trying to do it on the sly.

My mom visited for a few days last week and as usual, she and Hugo were inseparable. I came out into the driveway to meet them as they returned from the park or some adventure. Hugo was sobbing, standing next to the car. “I want! I want!” he couldn’t get it out, whatever it was. My mom was uncharacteristically annoyed.

“You can’t drive Mommy’s car right now, I want to go inside,” she said. I had a rare flash of Mommy insight and lifted him back into his car seat. He just wanted to climb out by himself and close the door. Tantrum aborted.