Every morning I give MickeyD a big hug and kiss, or maybe a dozen before heading out the door. Then he comes yelling down the hallway, "Mommy, mommeee! One more Hug!!! Giggle..."" Rinse, Repeat until I manage to extricate myself from the vice grip of his embrace at the bottom of the stairs. If I'm lucky he'll let me go at the front door. If not (or maybe if I'm luckier, depending on how you look at it) he must escort me to the door of the ancient Big-Ass Bronco (kindly loaned by my father for my 3 mile daily commute), climb up on the running boards (usually only in his underwear) and inspect the windows for any unfortunate spiders that may have set up little doomed webs before giving me my marching orders for the day:
"And Mommy? Mommy. " (finger extended because this is of vital importance) "Stop at all the stop signs. And if you see the ice cream van??? Get me a SpongeBob ice cream. Is VERY IMPORTANT. Got it???"""
Got it. Stop signs. Ice cream van. Spongebob. Not that I've ever seen the ice cream truck out and about at 8:00 am but a kid can hope, can't he? It's the only way he'll let me drive off without him. Then he retreats to the stoop where I can see him, watches to make SURE I came to a full, 3 second stop at the stop sign at the end of the block, then it's back inside to Daddy.