Welcome to the KingZoo and Funny Farm, where we learn to live, laugh, and love together. Here you'll find snippets of life in our zoo, parenting tips we've learned along the way, reflections on shining God's light in this world, passions in the realm of orphan care, and our journey as parents of a visually impaired child with sensory processing disorder. Have fun!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
In case you were wondering...
We had a very enjoyable time. The food, of course, was excellent. And we had very pleasant conversation. It was one great morning.
Until he offered to drive home.
I’ve decided that childbirth is nothing. In fact, I’d go through that 5 times before getting in the passenger seat with my just-learning child. Come to think of it, I did go through that 5 times before getting in the passenger seat with my just-learning child. And I’m still not ready for this. We’d better have another baby.
I’ve also decided that breathing exercises in childbirth classes have absolutely nothing to do with childbirth. Your body takes over on that one and you have no control over what happens. Whether or not you’ve practiced the how-tos of breathing, you are going to continue breathing. Letting your child drive is a totally different matter. Those breathing techniques that went by the wayside as soon as the first contraction hit do come in handy when your firstborn is behind the wheel. No need to offer refresher courses for the second or third or… pregnancy. I want a refresher the month before any given child turns 16!
I do believe I’ve aged at least 10 years in the one hour it took to drive from Lancaster to home. If not, my body has definitely gone from a fairly healthy state to one of unhealth.
My tongue is raw and bleeding from being bitten through in an attempt to keep myself from talking too much. Or screaming.
My jaw is in a constant state of clench from each time he merged or passed someone on the highway.
My mouth babbles, “White lines, white lines, white lines...” I sound like Rainman as a driving instructor.
I’ve been left with a jerk in my neck and a chronic crick from using my head to will the car away from the right side of the road.
My hands are cold, clammy, and wet from nerves.
My blood pressure, which used to be so low it kept me somewhere just over death, has now permanently risen above the needs-meds line.
My heart rate, like the one represented on the “After you die, You will meet God,” billboard that we passed, goes in fast lines up-and-down the monitor.
And my thigh has a lingering cramp from being raised at a right angle and pressing into the dashboard in an unsuccessful attempt at keeping Andrew below the speed limit.
But overall I think I did well. I got us home safely. I kept passing to a minimum. I was okay with following slow-moving trucks. And I thoroughly enjoyed driving under the speed limit.
There should be a special card that mothers-of-16-year-olds could keep in their wallets showing that they are a part of the Can-Do-Anything Club. There should be special privileges for us and we should be excused from any unusual behaviors that begin just after our children start driving.
I think I need a nap.