The car doctor

Last week, a routine neighborhood walk was paused to watch a tow truck load up a car and carry it away.

What a wild scene for a toddler. Loud clanking and churning and grinding. A massive mechanical piggy back ride. Then the tow truck and car just mosey off to a destination unknown.

I explained the events in real time. The small car is broken. Those guys watching are sad because their car is broken. That nice man has a big truck and is helping. As we waved goodbye, I bumbled around the finale and went with “now the tow truck is taking the car to the car doctor.”

Days later, Mazey excitedly told Auntie Kate about the scene on FaceTime. The story was mostly incoherent, but unprompted and seemingly out of nowhere. The key characters and observations were all there.

Turns out, the tow truck and car doctor were stashed somewhere in her brain ready to pop out at the right time.

And it really, really hit me.

Every little moment really matters now. Each perspective we share about how the world works. Stories we tell about people and places and things. Interactions between Mom and Dad. Our words and tone and attitude and body language.

Sure, every little moment always mattered. We’re being watched from day one. We talk and play to keep them engaged, but the feedback loop feels weak.

But now? Now feedback loop is alive. The tow truck and car doctor and everything else is sticking and resurfacing.

Our influence is powerful. The stakes feel higher with age. It’s hard to perfectly craft every single moment. To slow down and take the time.

But maybe it’s worth a shot knowing the tow truck and car doctor might be the most important thing she learns this week.