I used to think driving with a screaming baby was distracting. NOT EVEN A LITTLE compared to driving with Sir Talks a Lot and his sidekick Chatty- Chatty Kick Kick.
The other day on the freeway marked this little exchange:
SPud: My eye hurts.
Me: Bub, we're going really fast and there is no place to pull over. (Note, he was not crying or anything, so it was more a "I'm bored, let's make up a malady" kind of thing than a real emergency, so please don't call social scervices M'kay?)
Spud: But it HURTS. What should I do?
4.7 seconds later
Spud: It's not working!
Me: (While simultaneously changing lanes and silently cursing texting teenagers and the parents who give them cellphones) Just close your eyes.
Spud: But I will bump into things!!!!
Me: In your car seat?
Spud: At the house!!! I'll never see again!!!!!!
Me: (realizing again that drama is not limited to women) honey, it'll feel better soon. I promise.
A few more minutes of wondering if all drivers on the Deerfoot are blind and drunk.
Spud: My eye is better now.
Me: that's great!! I told you it would get better.
Spud: (with a derision usually only found in teenaged girls) I did not DO anything that you said. You didn't help at all. It just got better.
Insert few moments of correction regarding attitude.
Spud: My leg hurts. What do I do?