"red car broken!"

Over and over again, every single day... that's what The Boy says. "Red car broken, mommy, daddy's car broken. Drive mommy's car, red car broken, red car broken, red car broken.... "

Early Friday morning, 16 June, my husband was in a car accident on the way home from work while driving his treasured cherry red 1992 Mazda Miata rag top convertible. Dear Husband is fine, thank goodness, but the car is totalled. It only had 40,000 miles on it, and we still walk around in utter disbelief that the car is gone.

We've dealt with the insurance and the legal rigamarole, and we'd like to be done with it, forget it, move on. It's depressing, we'd like to be in denial and just pretend it never happened, just act like we never had that adorable car that was so fun to drive.

Except.... there's The Boy.

Every time someone goes near the garage door, he mentions the red car. If we are running an errand, The Boy has to bring it up. If he sees a car on TV, or hears a car in the street, it's "red car broken, red car broken" over and over again. It's funny, because it's not as though either of the kids ever even sat in the Miata, much less went for a ride in it; but The Boy is obsessed.

"Red car broken. Drive Mommy's silver car. Red car broken, Daddy's car broken."

Thanks, buddy, thanks for the reminder. *sigh*