Today we went to Aubrey’s house for the day. This involved some quality time in the car. On the way home, I decided I’d throw my name in the ring for Mom of the Year and stopped to get the kids milkshakes. Their little brains almost exploded. They couldn’t seem to understand that they each got their very own whole cup of ice creamy goodness.
Deprived little babies.
For several months now, I’ve been making the adjustment to five kid cups, five kid plates at dinner, five kid meals when we eat out. So I just ordered Willa a milkshake, knowing she’d be UP.SET. if she didn’t get what the others had.
I’ll be honest. I didn’t put a lot of thought into it. I was on autopilot. And I’d just had a major brain wave which will totally alter the way we do drive-thrus and I was distracted and exhausted by my own genius. (I let Ian get out of his carseat while I sat in the drive-thru line. I had HIM hand out the milkshakes and I didn’t have to waste time pulling over and distributing meals after we got our food. He strapped himself back in before we even left the line and I shaved ten minutes off our trip. Brilliant!)
I was so proud of myself, I didn’t give much thought to the atomic bomb I’d just set off in the backseat.
Willa started screaming before I made it to the first stop light. I looked back and saw ice cream spilling over the side of the chair. I pulled over, threw the hazard lights on, and hopped into the backseat. Her cup had one of those plastic lids that is domed up to accommodate whipped cream. There wasn’t any whipped cream, but she saw a hole big enough to stick her fist through and threw her straw out of the way so she could go for that ice cream with gusto. The problem was, she got her hand stuck in the hole.
I got her wrist removed from the vice, wiped up the ice cream as best I could, swapped lids around so she had a normal flat lid, then jammed her straw back into place and went back to my chair. I seriously have no idea why I thought everything would be okay after that. Obviously, I wasn’t thinking much at all.
The van was incredibly quiet for the first few minutes. The children were busy slurping their milkshakes. I heard Willa make happy noises every then, but since I was engrossed in getting on the interstate, it took me awhile to turn around to check on her. When I did, I saw the cup lying on its side at her feet. She was happily gnawing on the straw.
Fortunately, the lid was still intact.
I started looking for an easy rest stop to pull over at, but, on this particular stretch of highway, there wasn’t a rest stop for miles. I prayed the lid would hold and that she’d leave the cup alone altogether. After some time with no incident, what little mental coherence I had must have relaxed because if we passed a rest stop, I didn’t notice. I was Checked Out. When I turned around again, the lid was off the cup and there was a giant pile of milkshake at Willa’s feet.
I hunted for the next available exit. Fortunately, a familiar sign greeted me. “Wayne’s Package Store” was just a half a mile away. I laughed because I spent another eventful road trip in the parking lot at Wayne’s about two years ago. I wheeled into my new favorite liquor store and went to work removing the worst of the ice cream.
Thank goodness for baby wipes. And the lady at the drive through must have realized I was very stupidly giving all those milkshakes to children, because she handed me a huge pile of napkins. For once, I was mildly prepared.
I threw away the rest of the milkshake and Willa didn’t really seem to care. She had just enough of a sugar buzz to keep her from yelling until we hit our subdivision. So, I guess even though I’ve got some extra laundry to deal with, maybe my milkshake idea wasn’t so stupid after all.
Oh, who am I kidding? I gave a 12 month old a 12 ounce cup of milkshake. They’ve locked women up for less.
Even worse, all this sugar and ice cream is gonna do wonders for those uncooked rice diapers I’m dealing with now.
Let’s hope I’ve learned my lesson….