Me: "It's a problem."
Husband: "What is?"
Me: "Boy #2, at his brother's pick-up from school. You know, I told you about it. He hates it, and I don't blame him. If I were his size, I wouldn't be too happy about it all either."
Husband: "What are you talking about?"
Me: "Well, you know. The queue of mummies waiting to pick up their little darlings. Everyone's taller than him, milling around, and filing into the school at snail's pace, it takes ages - sometimes up to 10 minutes to get through the door."
Husband: "What does he do?"
Me: "What doesn't he do? He runs away, effectively meaning that we queue jump - you know I hate that... (Husband snickers - I can see him thinking 'That's my boy!' The Dutch don't do queuing, as a rule).
Me: "When I pick him up to stop that happening, he squirms and squeals, and as we stand on the school steps waiting to go in he pretends to be a train, hooting and whistling. Except that to anyone who doesn't know he's supposed to be a train, it sounds instead rather like a banshee."
Me: "Oh, I'm not finished. This is usually next to the head teacher who stations herself there every day and on whom it would be helpful for him to make a good impression since we haven't actually registered him at the school yet... "
Husband: "Well he's not even 3 yet, so..."
Me: "...And when we do finally make it inside, he normally decides this is the perfect moment to pretend to be a dog and crawl up the steps to the collection point, causing major traffic jams and hazards for the children and parents leaving - all of which, yet again, is in full view of the head teacher... I mean, I know he's not even 3 yet, and shouldn't be expected to behave perfectly, but, EVERY DAY?"
Husband: "But still..."
Me: "And then, when we make it to the front of the queue, and I'm busy kissing Boy #1 hello, Boy #2 takes advantage of that to make a bid for freedom amongst the coat racks and I have to hunt him down like a madwoman, trying all the time not to burst into hysterical laughter and scare off all the relatively normal mummies who I haven't had the chance to get acquainted with yet..."
Husband: "Have you thought of leaving him in the car?"
Me (momentarily stunned into silence - but only momentarily): Are you mad?
Husband: "Why? What could go wrong?"
Me: "Have the social services call on us, that's the least that could go wrong. It's not as if I can park opposite the school entrance, for a start, I normally have to park around the corner."
Husband: "You can lock the door, he'll be perfectly safe."
Me: "Really. Really? You know how he can free himself from the straps on his car seat? And open the window? And how he then likes to shout 'Merry Christmas!' at passers-by at the top of his voice? (Not that it's intelligable at that volume, but still...) So it's not like he's staying 'inconspicuously' in the car."
Me: "Yes, hmmm...."
Husband: "It's a problem."