Backseat Drivers

We used to tell Zane the colors of the traffic lights before he started talking; it was a way to pass the time and help him learn his colors.  We were stupid back then.  Somewhere along the way, my son started watching our driving very carefully.  I am not sure when it happened, but Zane began channeling the evil driving instructor from my high school days.  He even has that old school driving instructor tone of voice, that "I am so bored with you morons" tone.  It drives me up the wall, although I do my best not to show it.  At least he's looking around at the world, right?

"Green means go."

"Yes, son."

"Red means stop."

"Yes, son."

Yellow means slow down."

"Yes, son."

"Green arrow!"

"Yes, son."

"Car's coming!"

"Yes, son."

"Stop Sign!  Mama, why are you hitting your head on the steering wheel?"

Fortunately, my son cannot see the speedometer.  He'd be telling me to slow down, too. Come to think of it, that would have been a good idea.  It might have kept me from getting my second speeding ticket in the past year.  Before last year I hadn't had a speeding ticket for almost twenty years, but suddenly I have a lead foot, and was going 8 miles over the speed limit.

I wasn't trying to speed, but I also wasn't paying attention to my speed, either.  My son didn't say a word while I was talking to the police officer and giving him my license, etc. Once he went to his car to write out the ticket, I had to explain why we had been pulled over.  It's a little embarrassing to have a cop behind you, lights flashing, when you have your kid in the car.

It's even worse when your husband is sitting in the passenger seat. He's not ever going to let me live it down!