Monday, January 08, 2007

Britney Spears Doesn't Let Her Kids Drive

In my defense, it was a bad morning. I was stressed. I don't do well with stress. And even though, looking back on it, it really wasn't that big of a reason to get stressed, well you can't expect a leopard to change its spots.

On Saturday mornings, Little Man goes to a place named Little Gym. It's kind of expensive, but he's been in it since he was nine months old, because back when I was a stay-at-home mom, it meant that for an hour each week, someone else was in charge of entertaining my kid and I could sit on the rainbow colored mat and dream of margaritas and gin and tonics.

I signed the Little Man up for another semester, because I figured it'd give us something to do together on Saturday mornings, because most weekends, the three of us stare at each other, wondering what to do and then end up going to the mall spending money we don't have, just because, what the hell else is there to do in Dallas, especially in suburbia land.

Anyway, Saturday morning, Little Man decided to sleep in until a crazy time, so much so, that at 8:25 I woke him up because we were going to be late for Little Gym. The thing with toddlers is that you can't speed them up. Speeding up a toddler through breakfast is like trying to get a redneck to change his mind about gay marriage: it'll get very messy and there will be a lot of yelling.

We need to leave the house by 8:40 to get to class on time. At 8:42, I had Little Man dressed in some semblance of clothing that would get neither of us arrested and I began to proceed to try to get my bucking toddler into his car seat.

To re-enact my trying to strap in my pissed off toddler into that torture device known as the car seat, I ask you to take a wild cougar, kick it three times in the ribs, punch it in the nose and then attempt to put a harness around its cougar body. What's that? It's not possible? Well, you're obviously not a mother then.

By 8:47, I have a purple, but safe, toddler in the back seat and I begin to proceed to back out of the garage. I whip down my driveway as a speed close to Mach 3, and as the garage door is almost closed, my dumb cat decides to walk out, triggering the garage opener's (and closer) safety device, therefore re-opening my slower-than-molasses garage door.

My cat then proceeds to stand there, pontificating the purpose of life and whether brown mice taste better than grey mice.

I roll down my window and yell at her to get out of the way. I'm pretty sure an f-bomb was dropped. This stops the screaming toddler from screaming, because he's thinking something way more interesting than his fit is happening, and he should pay attention for his future therapy sessions.

The cat refuses to budge despite my horrific tongue lashing directed at her and all of her ancestors.

I'm left with no choice. I get out of the car and proceed to chase the cat like I'm going to kill it and have it for dinner. The cat runs away, thinking that I've officially lost my mind and that it might be time for her to look for some crazy cat woman with 90 cats to move into and be neglected there instead of our horrible home.

Satisfied that I can finally make it to that damn Little Gym class, I turn around and watch my Jeep heading down the road with Little Man still in its back.

It seems that in my haste to get out of the car, I forgot to put it in Park. And the stupid Jeep doesn't realize that when no driver's in the car, you should stay put. I watch my Jeep slowly roll towards the curb and relieved, think to myself that Little Man will just stop there and wait for me.

But no, this is my life and physics don't exist in it. My Jeep, used to going over curbs because of my bad driving, rolls over the curb like if it's a pebble and proceeds to roll across our neighbor's yard, heading straight for their Lexus SUV, apparently convinced that it's found true love.

I beging to run after my Jeep, in my high-heeled boots, may I add (there are cute dads in the class, a girl's got to look cute, even with unbrushed hair and a stained sweater) and I can see Little Man excitedly waving his arms and laughing at me as I pass him.

I throw myself in my Jeep and press the brake pedal, a mere five or six feet from the new neighbors (who I've yet to meet) Lexus.

Little Man applauds. I turn to him, stunned, and he baby signs "more? more?"

I sit there for a second, shit myself, wish for a cigarette and then calmly drive out of the neighbors' yard, close my garage door and get us to Little Gym a mere three minutes late, still in time for a rousing version of 'Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes."

Love,

Catwoman.

5 comments:

random_mommy said...

holy crap. i did not see that coming. i'm so glad you have the speed of an olympic runner! maybe you should start a new sport...

susan said...

What a brilliant way to put Little Man in a good mood! ;) I'm glad your car didn't meet your neighbor's car! Let me know next time Little Gym has a bring a friend class, my monster and I will join you!

susan said...

I like exclamation points! A lot!! ;)

Catwoman said...

If it was an Olympic sport to chase your car with your toddler in it, then I'm sure I'd qualify for the gold. The Jose Cuervo Gold, probably.

And yes, it was a great way to put the Little Man in a good mood, but chocolate would have worked just as well.

Emma in Canada said...

HAHA! Now the comment you left me makes total sense!