We got the plastic firetruck out of the basement a month or so ago. The kind that is meant for someone Beckett's age. To push around as he learns to walk, or scoot along as he learns to ride.
The truck was hijacked. By Eli. He prefers to ride with shoes on (all the better to push with) to get some serious speed as flies though the thoroughfare of a hallway the runs the depth of our house. He has bumped his head on the front door a time or two when he misjudged his speed, but I'm picking my battles- it's a great way to burn off three year old energy on cold winter days.
The other night, as he was whizzing through the house, he told Joel he was thirsty. Joel got him some milk. A few minutes later, I heard this conversation in the hallway.
"Daddy, the milk is not coming out of my sippy cup."
"Well bud, you need to get off your truck if you want it to work. You can't drink while you're driving.
Glad we started that conversation early.