You haven’t seen aggressive driving until you have a mama possessed in trying to get a cranky toddler home before he falls asleep in the car and thinks that five minutes is his allotted nap for the day.
Peanut was full of crank and vinegar at lunch with a fellow high heeled mama and her sweet little three month old munchkin (oh, remember the days when you could, theoretically, go anywhere at any time of day because the little one would sleep wherever they were and naps didn’t have to be in a crib between the hours of 1 and 3pm?), so I knew we must be tired and in need of some serious nappage.
Lunch was a bit across town from my house, but no big deal. I had a few tricks up my sleeve for
keeping the peanut awake. Until coming upon major construction at a major intersection along my route home. Those 15 minutes of sitting were the beginning of the end. The lids started to get droopy. The breathing more rhythmic and slow. When we were finally past it, nothing I could do could keep this guy awake.
The transition into the house wasn’t much better. I couldn’t get the key in the door. There was a clown of a squirrel running around the driveway and catching my drowsy guy’s attention. The cat started her typical complaining for food (even though her dish is full). I’ve put him down in a wet diaper because I thought for sure the act of changing him would REALLY wake him up. And our neighbors yard guys just showed up for some high-powered leaf blowing (which is usually not a problem as long as we’re already asleep when they start).
Now I hear him babbling away through the monitor. History tells me we aren’t getting a nap today. And boy that makes for a rough afternoon for mama. At least I had a nice lunch out (thanks again, Miss M. and little Libby). And a babysitter coming tonight so the hubby and I can go to a cooking class date night (part of his Christmas present) that does include wine.
Before I give up on the nap, I think I’ll update the resume. I got some mad driving skills! And I’ve seen Days of Thunder a few times.
“Rubbin’, son, is racin’.”
Isn’t that all I really need to know? Move over NASCAR dads, this soccer mom is drafting and aiming to make a move on the high side (cause, as Cole Trickle showed us, passing up high is way more dramatic than down low).