Rattled by Comedians In Cars

In the early days of raising a family, “I was rattled!”  That’s right, “I was rattled!”

It came out of nowhere; this blue handled, plastic, toy with a bulbous rounded end rattled me!  It hit the back of my head with a ping and a clink.

That wasn’t the only thing to come flying up.

Try driving along with kids in the back,  some in booster seats, some in car seats, and others just regular seat belt buckled when "Wham!"  "What was THAT?"

Baby bottles.  You’ve never been a mother until you’ve been nearly hit with a baby bottle.  It thunks pretty well on a windshield.  The kid in back goes stock still at the unexpected sound, not knowing whether to thoroughly enjoy his victory or be scared of  return fire, “WHO DUNNIT?”

Oh, the things that can fly!   Books, pillows, and hand fans.   Legos, mega blocks, any toy will do.   Sippy cups, socks, even your brother’s shoe!   Never fear Fisher Price farm toys like pigs, can fly, too! 

Ever hear of projectile vomiting?  I hadn’t either until the second child was born handicapped.  There was no getting him to the stool in time, nor could you predict and have a trashcan ready, but, let me tell you, he could let fly with the best of ‘em.

I know why Mom and Dad liked their station wagon with the three rows of seats.  Because the last row was rear facing!

A cry of “he ate all the pretzels, he’s not sharing“ or “he’s spitting on the window” would never get to the front seats.  Now, if you’re driving along on the interstate and look left at the car passing you, and they’re looking back at you with wild eyes which ratchet from you to the rear of your car and back to you, you’d better investigate.  

Someone might be mooning.  No, not swooning, not crooning, I typed that right, moo-ooon-ing.

 You’ve heard of that show on Netflix titled “Comedians In Cars Getting Coffee” well, we’ve got “Comedians in Cars Getting Conked”

First Comedian:  “He ate the last of my sandwich.”

Exasperated Mom:  “How on earth could HE eat the last of YOUR sandwich?”

Second Comedian:  “He stuck his hand in my face and wouldn’t move it, so…I ate it!”

Exasperated Mom:  “Was there blood?  If there wasn’t blood, no one’s hurt!”

Comedians In Cars can sing in rounds.  They love to do this.  No, not to irritate the mother, but to irritate the song starter.  It’s in the genes.  And, let me tell you, it’s not melodious.

Comedians In Cars, though strapped into car seats, can open car doors and giggle.

Comedians in Cars throw things out the window to see where they go and just what course they take before landing.  Hopefully on pavement and not on the car following you.

Comedians in Cars spit on windows then draw in the spittle.

Comedians in Cars hit themselves then pesticatingly wolf cry, “Stop it.  Quit hitting me.”

Oh yes, dear hubby, you want to drive eight hours to see your parents this summer?

Just conk me in the back of the head, rattle me good, maybe I can enjoy this trip in a concussed coma.

Ah, the dreamy state of sleep’s arrival.   In my dreamy state I'm doubting my vision.  With one eye squinting I see the last bit of someone’s lunchmeat sandwich hurling into space; I see it separate like a NASA rocket into three pieces -- the lettuce, the meat, and the bread -- and hit the dashboard!