The Car Makes Me a Zombie or Something

There's something about being in the car.

In the car, I become a "yes" mom. Maybe this happens to you, too? Now, I don't mean the kind of "yes" mom that gives in to demands for things like chocolate or Burger King or new toys. What I means is that I become the mom that says yes to all the crazy, hare-brained schemes, explanations, and "what ifs" that my children come up with. For example, we see a truck on the road, and Finn tells me that it is a front loader, when I can clearly see that it is, in fact, a bulldozer. Rather than correcting him, I agree.

We venture out on a day with thick cloud cover, and Finn insists that the sky is blue. I weakly attempt to tell him that perhaps the sky isn't really blue but is rather somewhat greyish/purple-y, and then immediately cave with a "Well, maybe you're right" when he sticks to his guns.

Or perhaps we see a car flipped over on its hood, parked at the police station (this has happened). I could use this as a teaching moment and explain that the car probably ended up that way because someone was driving to fast or not obeying other driving (sobriety?) laws. But Finn postulates that a super strong giant came along and flipped the car over, and I agree that sure, why not, that could totally happen.

Or that yeah, no, maybe we've never driven past that building over there before, even if we've driven past it 500 times.

It's just that there's something about being in the car that makes me so TIRED. I do whatever I can to avoid a battle (and trust me, there are many I can't avoid). I simply don't have the energy for the detailed explanations that it sometimes takes to get a point across or to TEACH SOMETHING, for whatever reason. And trust me, my examples above don't really do justice to the crazy nature of some of the conversations one can have with a four year old in the car. They are CRAZY. And at home, out at the playground, at a store, anywhere else, I try to up my game and actually tell my kid the truth. To pursue an actual point, if you will. But in the car, it is just too much for me to handle, apparently.

I suppose it's because most of the time I spend in the car with the kids is somewhat stressful and exhausting even without all the extraneous battles and mind games thrown in. If it's the morning, I'm sweaty from wrestling approximately 5 bags, 3-4 blankies, 2 kids, 2 sets of snacks and/or water cups, and a steaming-hot, precariously-perched, but oh-so-necessary travel mug of coffee into the car. Not to mention frantically checking for the car keys, my cell phone, my bluetooth device, my blackberry, my ID, and my other ID before leaving, and typically running back in to the house to find at least one of those things.

I'm hurrying, and desperately looking forward to the next time I can climb into bed (why, oh why can't I have that exact same feeling at 9:30 at night so I can actually GO TO BED EARLY and not feel so damn tired every morning), and trying to get to work in time to get ready for an 8 or 8:30 meeting.

Coming home, my eyelids feel like they are made of sandpaper, and I'm full of guilt that I left work 15 minutes later than I meant to (Side note: When will I be OK with my kids spending a full 10 hours in daycare? Because I am not there yet), and I'm thinking about what I'm going to cook for dinner and how we're going to have time for Finn's homework and bathtime and can I fit a run in or will M. kill me?

And it just becomes so much easier to agree. There's time to fix these things, right? Just because I don't correct the assumption right away doesn't mean that my kids will forever be convinced that every small copse of trees is a forest, right?

And, cue nonexistent segway to... Pictures!

These photos are all from this past Father's Day weekend (side note: Happy belated Father's Day to all those wonderful dads out there), so I'm not going to give legends for ALL of them. But you should note that the below photo of the red velvet pancakes the kids and I made from scratch for M. is proof that I could never be a food blogger (it's my presentation and photography that's off, not the actual recipe, as the pancakes garnished with chocolate chip mascarpone and maple syrup were quite yummy):



And this is what making red velvet pancakes from scratch can do to your cheap, off-white, linoleum countertops.

Developing a sense of style already

Medical exam to check for any blocked arteries following breakfast


I exercised my teenage girl skillz by putting two french braids in Lucy's hair, a first for her. She cried. She didn't buy my explanation that beauty is pain. Not sure that we'll be attempting those again any time soon, but she sure looked adorable while she had them in!