Run Fox Run

So the working parent with a 45 minute commute each way thing, it’s complicated. On the one hand it’s an hour and a half in the car, you know, but on the other hand it’s an hour and a half in the car with my kids. That’s good singing, talking, and telling stories time. If there is a sweeter sound than a baby sister laughing at the jokes and tickling of her big sister, I haven’t yet heard it. Post potty training, I’ve had to learn the location of every available outpost with running water, and bless the three Shell stations that have the bathroom doors outside so a person can park next to the door, leave the baby in the car with the windows down, and hold the bathroom door half open for a three year old whose tummy told her she needed to stop at the gas station to go peeps. You Exxon managers with your bathroom doors tucked inside at the back of the quickmarts, through a maze of sugary snacks and self-serve coffee stations, I am not such a fan of your floorplans. Actually, even with the Shell ease-of-use factor, I am still going to come down against potty stops at gas stations, for sundry reasons ranging from cleanliness to fuel economy to just plain inconvenience. And I am also not a huge fan of what we euphemistically call “picnics in the car,” meaning that since Mommy’s meeting ran late and it’s already 6:15 we’re just going to grab a chicken nugget happy meal with apple dippers and eat dinner en route. This is not the family dinner for which I strive.

But. The talking – the things that said three-year-old will comment on from her Britax Decathlon in the back seat – it’s awesome. One of our favorite games is when we pick out our favorite big rigs and pretend to be driving them, calling to each other on our CB radios: “Hey, there, good buddy, come on back now, ya hear?” To a word person like myself, it’s absolutely incredible that in the last week Leda has made some observations that let me know her imagination is starting to work. Yesterday she told me that a long, fluffy cloud looked like a choo-choo train. And you know what? It did. Apparently, it was a choo-choo train to the moon city. And today, my gosh, today it rained like the bejeesus all day and the windshield fogged up in a nanosecond. As soon as the defogger started doing its job and there were two little areas of clear glass, Leda announced that there were two caterpillars crawling on the windshield. A moment later, after the defogged regions merged, she remarked that there was one large caterpillar. (It, too, was on its way to the city, as it turned out.)
Just a year ago we were impressed as all getout when Leda knew the correct word for something, and a year later she’s making imagistic metaphors. And she’s making them at drive time. Beats the heck out of All Things Considered.

Sorry to provide yet another piece of evidence for the tautological observation of one dad, “Each time a child is born, two insufferable blowhards are created.” Your turn, Daddy.