Our Mother the Trucker

While Stacy's minivan was out for bumper repairs, our auto insurance was kind enough to spring for a replacement vehicle. The options, however, were... shall we say, limited.



My, how my pampered Burbank girl has suffered. Not quite the mini-Cooper that Barbie would drive.

I, on the other hand, was stoked. I envisioned Home Depot trips for incredibly large purchases -- not that I actually needed anything, but simply because I had the truck to haul junk with! And then there was off-roading! Camping! Working with my Dad in the woods. (OK, it might be a little unrealistic to drive it to Maine.)

What I really wanted to do was drive down a country dirt road with the kids bumping around in the truckbed. That's was a favorite memory from my childhood. But then again, I grew up in much less of a nanny-state than our present Orwellian locale. While I would love to give my kids the experience, I don't think I'd want to incur the displeasure of the People's Republic of "Kajlifoaniah" (Read it with a strong Schwarzenegger accent!) risking 10 to 20 years in a maximum security facility for child abuse.

Though it is tempting.

Fortunately or unfortunately both my ambitions and temptations were short-lived. The car repairs went ironically quickly and the truck was returned without me having the opportunity to even turn the key. In the end I must content myself with pictures Stacy took of the kids sitting in the back in the smothered security of our driveway.




On second thought...



Ahhhh! Much better!