Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Road Trippin’ With The Birds and The Bees


 When I was in college, my two roommates and I decided to drive to Virginia for spring break.  We were in the car for 19 hours with a bucket of chicken and a Madonna CD.  On a trip to Colorado with Eric, he actually said, “You have to talk to me” when we hit western Kansas and he was about to loose his mind to boredom.  On Saturday I drove to Oklahoma City and back with my two kids for a birthday party for Ann’s daughter.  The hour and half drive back to Tulsa was more painful than any cross-country drive and not just because of the slowly forming ice on the roads.

My first mistake came before I ever set foot in my car.  If you have two kids 5 and under and someone asks you if you need help you say yes.  Always say yes.  Ann’s sweet mother asked me if I needed help getting the kids loaded up.  “No, thank you I said.  I think I’ve got it.”  Then my daughter proceeded to run to the nearest flowerbed and sit down in mud.  She followed this up by running into the street.  So when I said “I think I’ve got it” I must have been referring to my complete lack of control over the situation.

Everyone was finally loaded up and we headed out.  A few minutes in we had the beginnings of the standard she-looked-at-me-funny meltdown, the she-looked-like-she-was-going-to-take-my-toy meltdown, and the this-seatbelt-is-suffocating-me meltdown. 

By the time I hit Stroud, I resorted to what any self-respecting mother does and stopped at McDonald’s to placate my kids with food and cheap toys.  Cue tantrum over iPad malfunction and dropped toys.  This was also about the time Kenzie decided that the seatbelt really was trying to kill her and repeatedly took her arms out of the straps.

It would seem like I had run the gamete on mishaps on road trips with children, but my kids like to go above and beyond.

“Mommy, does God but babies in girls’ bellies when they’re born?” asked Hudson.

Because of course, when would be a more perfect time to have the birds and bees talk than on a dark Interstate threatened by ice with an uncooperative toddler.

My strategy was to keep it simple and pray he didn’t ask any more questions.

“No.”
“But how does the baby get in the mommy’s belly?”

Damn.

“When a mommy and daddy decide they want to have a baby, that’s when the mommy gets a baby in her belly.”

Thankfully, that was the end of the reproductive Q&A.  At least until some time in the future when we find ourselves driving through a blizzard.

This only happens when the trip is under 15 minutes.







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