Riding in the Car with Noodle Salad

"Some people have great stories, pretty stories that take place at lakes with boats and friends and noodle salad. Just no one in this car. But, a lot of people, that's their story. Good times, noodle salad." - Jack Nicholson,As Good as it Gets

In college Regan and I went to see this movie every time we had a bad or rough day. I'd venture to say we saw it at least once a week. Of course, once it moved to the $1 theater, our bad days didn't affect the bank account as much... Since then I've made mental notes of the Noodle Salad days and tried to overwrite the rough days with those.

When your kid has a rough day, you, too had a rough day. They don't tell you this. In fact, a notice should be sent out to those of us who sit up all night worrying about our own bad days - we should not get married, we should not have children. Because then you're not up all night with your own bad days, you're up all night with everyone else's bad days (and they're sleeping them off just fine). I saw no such warning label.

So rough day happens to Will. Chris decides that we should go out to dinner because that way it tricks us into "celebration mode". This is really code for it was his turn to cook and he snuck out of it. We asked Will where he wanted to eat. It was, after all, his rough day. "Red Lobster." Ok. I must have missed the generation where all preschoolers loved McDonalds. It was not THAT bad of a day. We look at each other. Neither of us was really in the mood for Red Lobster. We wanted Mexican. After an eternity of negotiations which involved ice cream for dessert, we head to Baja Fresh - or, as Will says, BaaBaa Beef.

We eat dinner in relative silence. No one at our booth is very talkative. We finish up BaaBaa Beef and decide next on the agenda is Cold Stone Creamery for ice cream. We go in, everyone orders up, we dig in.

Will is first to finish. He leans back in his chair and rubs his belly. "You know what makes bad days good, Mommy?" No. I do not. "Chocolate with Oreos mixed in. I think I want to have more bad days."

More? No, son, Mama can't take your bad days because they make my heart ache worse than anything.

He hopped up and sat on my lap. A chocolate kiss comes my way and plants itself on my cheek. "Let's go clean up Mommy." Ok.

In the bathroom I can see it. Chocolate kiss on my cheek. I don't want to wash it off. Also on my shirt is a burrito smear from a hug after dinner. And a coke stain. Mom-wear. Somehow I think these are the evidences that he didn't have to go through his bad day alone - and neither did I. He's washing his hands, singing a song he has written about him and his mommy and chocolate ice cream. I watch him. I think to myself - good times, noodle salad.