1996
"Sacha it is my turn to sit in the middle!" Chelsea hopelessly said to her brother. "Mommy, tell Sacha to move, it is not fair he ALWAYS sits in the middle!"
In France children are not allowed to ride in the front seat of the car, until they are 14 or reach a certain height. The car battle zone was the middle seat; in which there was a straight shot view out the front window. Having two children engaged me in peace talks each journey.
Sacha was a mastermind at claiming the strategic spot: He would either pitch a royal fit, or scream bloody murder. It worked. Chelsea and I let him have his way in order to have peace of mind. Peace talks seldom went pass the first word!
This day was an exception to that rule.
Dropping the bomb I said, "Sacha you need to share, it is Chelsea’s turn. Please move."
He went ballistic. Oh how he could be dynamite! Sometimes NATO doesn’t agree, single agent Sacha stood sat for what he wanted against the odds.
"Sacha I am not in the mood for this behavior, you need to move now, or I will move you!" Threatening wasn’t my style unless facing a four year old with his red hot temper and a six year old who should have won a noble peace prize– or at least a middle seat once in awhile!
As we drove off in our new positions, Sacha looked at me in the rear view mirror, "Mommy, I don’t think Jesus would have responded in the same way. He would (have) hugged me and told me to have the middle."
With the force short of a miracle I didn’t laugh, "Sacha, did you act like Jesus?"
"Oh! I didn’t think about that!!"
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