Slow Down

Our family of five is often in a rush, often running behind schedule, and yesterday was no exception. In a typical fashion, we darted about the house as we packed up for our road trip. Ten-year-old watched the almost-two-year-old while we threw items haphazardly into suitcases and jammed jogger stroller, port-a-crib, and sports equipment into the trunk. When we finally made it into the car, my husband said, "I don't think we're going to make it on time."

The idea of missing our son's first event of the day prompted me today something I'd been keeping to myself for years. "Well, you don't drive fast enough," was my catty reply. Obviously, he wasn't pleased with my proclamation, but I certainly noticed when he started passing people in traffic. It was a break-through of sorts: I revealed a long-held source of frustration, and he responded by putting his foot on the gas.

Guess what happened as we cruised down Rt. 301? He spotted the cruiser at the crossroads up ahead, but it was too late; the radar had already revealed his speed, so the sirens squealed, and we pulled over. He got his first ticket in 19 years.

In the end, we made it in time to see our boy row the last leg of the race, so nothing was lost...except my ability to complain about my husband's driving speed ever again.