Friday, January 29, 2010

I Want Out of the Car

So last night, we were on the road again. Usually, I'm totally okay with this. I love to read, and what better chance to justify reading an entire book than when you're belted in to J's trusty steed, Big Red? At home, I always feel guilty about reading in the daytime, unless it's a textbook. I live in fear that the Good Wife and Mother Council is going to send someone over for a surprise inspection, and they'll catch me reading about Stephanie Plum's latest escapade, instead of dusting my knickknacks. "Well Fashion Momma, I'm afraid you've failed this latest inspection. You have laundry to do, houseplants to water, a cat box to clean, and dust bunnies to catch. I'm going to have to ask you to turn over all your books, until you can get this house back in shape." The Council is real, people, and I live in fear of its all-seeing eye. So rather than reading a quick chapter here and there, while the laundry is drying, or the dishwasher running, I'll stay up until 2 in the morning, missing out on precious hours of beauty sleep, just so I don't have my reading privileges taken away. Where was I? Ah yes, on the road.

We had a good drive ahead of us yesterday, so I was looking forward to digging into a new book, until I realized I was losing daylight, and had forgotten my reading light. If J would've agreed to turn Big Red around, I totally would have asked him to. But he wouldn't, so I remained silent. At least I had the promise of Starbucks in my future to get me through the reading withdrawal shakes. But, when we blew through the town where Starbucks lived, without getting a Venti Extra Hot Mocha for Momma, I began to melt. And then I realized that our child would probably get hungry for dinner at some point, and the snacks I'd packed were not going to tide her over. And there was nary a Mickie D's for thousands of miles. No Golden Arches. No King. Nothing but C-store food. And the girl is attached to her fast food. So there I was, straining my poor eyeballs to read just one more sentence before dark fell, wishing to all that was Holy that I had my mocha in my hand, and waiting for the girl to realize she was starving. I got a little testy. I was staring down several more hours in the pickup, with nothing to do. J is not a talker, so it's not as if we were going to solve the world's problems in the cab of that pickup, and the girl had her eyeballs super-glued to her DVD player. I had been robbed (through no fault of my own!) of precious get-out-of-jail free reading time. With each tick of the clock, we were getting closer to a starving child's meltdown, and I hadn't had enough caffeine to give me the strength to talk her down.

And then, J had to stop to refuel, because Big Red was drinking Diesel like it was a fine wine. I hauled my grouchy butt out of the pickup, helped my girl disentangle herself from headphone and charger cords, and stomped into the convenience store. We went to the Girls' Room, and washed our hands, and turned off the faucet with a paper towel, and opened the door with a paper towel (because you don't touch bathroom fixtures with your bare skin, hello!!), and went to peruse the fine offerings of Eddie's Corner. My girl went straight for the stuffed animals, because a girl can never have too many. So I spent 10 minutes saying, 'Yes kiddo, they're cute, but you are not getting one!!!' I was deliberating over whether I really wanted to eat a Deli Express Turkey and Cheese-like Substance sandwich, when my daughter walked up to me with a little black plastic thing in her mitts. "Look Mom, it lights up! You clip it on your hat, and push this button, and it lights up!" That's nice. It'd be great if I had a HAT. But I don't, so it does me no good. "That's great baby, but I don't think that will work for me." Maybe I should back up for a minute. When I started losing the light, which coincidentally was right about the time I started losing my sense of humor, J suggested I clip my little flash light to the visor, and I could use that to read. I believe J could sense I was going over to the Dark Side, and would've tried anything to get his wife some reading light at that point. Fine, I'll give it a shot. I clipped the flash light on the visor, and said, "Well, this'd be great, if I wanted to feel like I was reading by strobe light!" See what I mean about the sense of humor? Bless his heart, he tried everything he could think of to get it to work. Flash forward to the store. I was failing to see her vision for this little light. Then Daddy showed up. The two of them began talking excitedly, trying to get me to understand the beauty of this light. Apparently riding in the pickup with Momma when she melts is not fun for her family. I have no idea what the problem was. I was fine! Anyway, they eventually got it through my muddled brain that I could clip the light to the visor, tilt the visor down, and read!! Well, once I understood, I said 'Sold! I'll take two!' I grabbed the sandwich, a couple packets of mayo, 'cause Momma doesn't do yellow mustard, a cup of something closer to tea than coffee, and my new light, and skipped my way back to Big Red. The girl got all settled and buckled (turns out she was fine with the snacks I'd packed), J put five million gallons of diesel in Red's tank, I slapped some mayo on my sandwich, (which actually wasn't too bad), clipped my light on, and away we went. And Momma was once again a happy camper. Apparently it's true: If Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy! I spent the next four hours in guilt-free indulgence. I'm still waiting for my Mocha, though.

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