A is for Advent: A Three-Year-Old's Perspective

R is for Relief

Timmy doesn't care about lifetime guarantees. He doesn't care that a kitchen knife can cut shavings from a hammer. And he certainly doesn't care that, today only, he could get the bundle of demonstrated products at one third the regular price.

He cares very much that he's being made to listen to it all, while still strapped in the back seat of the double pram. The loud-talking man with a sales grin bigger than his entire face keeps plying the group with promises of some free gift, if they just watch this right here...

Timmy fidgets. He grizzles. He tries to get his arms out of the belt's chest straps.

"Mu-u-u-um..." he starts, in a whine.

Mum starts rolling the pram back and forth, as though he can be so easily pacified. As though he's only three months old, not three years old. "You're being really patient, thank you," she says. "Just a little longer..."

Timmy can't even see the stupid knife demonstration. He can only see other people's backs, from where he sits. And the creepy sales grin above it all. Timmy doesn't know why the loud-talking man is so excited. He's talking about knives. Not ducks or Minions.

"Mu-u-u-um..." he whines again, leaning forward to strain against the straps.

"Timmy," Mum says, in a sharp whisper this time. "My wallet has just been nicked. I can't buy Daniel's new breakfast bowl. I want to be walking out of here with SOMETHING."

Timmy slouches back into his seat with a scowl. He's not happy about the bowl, either. Mum had allowed him to hold it, before. Then they'd got to the checkout, where she'd fumbled and flustered at pram pockets before she wheeled the pram back the way they'd come, and returned the bowl to the shelf. 

He wasn't allowed to hold it, after that. Now he has to sit here and listen to a guy sawing at a hammer with a kitchen knife, instead. 

Timmy stays grumpy and silent for the rest of the morning. Mum's still looking flustered, so it seems the strategic thing to do. He's quiet when Mum wheels them away with her free paring knife and another potato peeler they don't need. He's quiet when she asks the security guard if anyone's handed in her wallet. He's quiet when she walks the pram home following the route they had come. Mum mutters as she checks around every bump on the path where pram contents could be dislodged. He's quiet at home while Mum's on the phone, talking to grownups who live in banks.

Daniel's not so prudent. He doesn't have a mind for strategy. At least, not politic ones. He screams when Mum's on the phone because she's not giving him a biscuit. Mum doesn't scream back because the grownup on the phone will hear her, but Timmy knows Daniel's chances of getting that biscuit just went down. A lot.

Timmy thinks Mum's in a better mood when she takes them to kindy. She still doesn't have her wallet, but she's been calm since talking with the grownups who live in the bank. She says it's reassuring nobody can try to buy China with her money. 

Timmy doesn't know what China is, but he probably wouldn't be allowed to touch it.

They're in the car and almost at kindy when Mum's cellphone rings. Timmy sees her check the screen, before she pulls the car over and answers the phone.

Timmy can't hear who's talking to her, but he sees her face go slack. Then fearful. She winces, like when she's bracing for someone to throw a MegaBlok at her in a fit of pique. It would be Daniel; Timmy doesn't do that. He finds stomping off to his room has less fallout.

He sees Mum blink. She looks surprised now. Then relieved. Then excited. Then she's crying. 

But she's smiling, too. 

Absurd. 

Timmy wonders what's happening in that phone call. Whatever it is seems to be making Mum easier to be around, which is great for him, but still does nothing for his curiosity.

When Mum puts the phone down, he doesn't have to ask anything. She turns around to face him, beaming. "Mummy has her wallet back!" she says in the imperial third-person-speak grownups use when they think he can't understand pronouns. "The bank says it's at the police station! Mummy has her wallet back!"

Timmy doesn't care about lifetime guarantees and he doesn't care about wallets. He doesn't have either. But when Mum has a wallet, she's happy and she shares her excitement with him. 

He finds he cares very much about that.