The next day — literally the very next day — we were driving home from school. No windows down this time. You asked for your backpack, so I gave it to you to head off the inevitable car tantrum. Then dad called, so I wasn't paying attention to what was happening in the backseat.
We hung up, and your brother said, “Um, mommy, is he allowed to be playing with that?” I turned around and you had ketchup — which in that split second genuinely looked like blood — all over you, the seat, and the window. You'd pulled it out of your lunchbox and were just painting, having the time of your life.
“What are you doing?!” I said. You looked up with the biggest smile and said, “ketchup mommy, ketchup!”
I smile looking back on it now. In the moment, I almost lost my shit. Paint with ketchup if it fills you with joy, baby — just not in mommy's car.