The Self-Aware Toddler Hits the Road

Today at noon we are leaving for a five-hour road trip to Cedar Rapids, Iowa.  "The city of five seasons." The fifth season is "cereal."  There is a Quaker Oats plant AND a corn syrup plant in Cedar Rapids.  One smells like Cap'n Crunch, the other like burning rubber dog shit.  Still, they try to promote themselves as a city with an extra season in which to enjoy oneself. I only hope the enjoyment happens as far away from that corn syrup plant as possible.

I used to work in Cedar Rapids as a young'un, fresh out of the University of Iowa.  I was an assistant account executive (read:  one who faxes) for an advertising agency.  I did public relations.  Well, I did faxing.  This was before people really used e-mail a lot, or at least in Iowa, where we got the latest fashions at least six months after they hit the coasts.  Ever wondered why people in Iowa were the last to let go of mall hair?  Well, there you go.  I even know some ladies in my hometown who still have bangs that can touch the car ceiling's upholstery.  I'll pause to let that sink in.

We've taken the little angel a lot of places.  She's been to Chicago, Portland (OR), Minneapolis (twice) and Iowa City three or four times.  We also go back to my hometown, near Omaha, about four or five times a year.  She is what you'd call a seasoned traveler.   However, she was still a flesh purse for many of those longer trips, content to stare vacantly at a hanging toy for hours on end.  Those were the days in which we could take her to restaurants with cloth napkins. Oh, and she slept a lot.  She's a little different now.  Sort of insistent, easily bored, not fooled by "peek-a-boo" for more than five minutes.  If you eat something, she wants a piece, which means I have to stop snacking on toddler no-nos like cashews and chocolate.   She's kind of like me. I'm a wee bit concerned about her ability to sit in the car for five hours.

To compound this problem, my beloved got a speeding ticket yesterday for doing 77 in a 65.  He was mad because he had the cruise set at 75.  He has told me for years no one will bust you for 10 over. Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah.  However, this means we should probably not do our customary 85 (my sister recoils in horror - she thinks we should drive 45 with the child in the car, and well, she might have a point, but we still won't) all the way there.  We should probably go a reasonable speed.  I'm not allowed to drive for very long, because I'm a horrible driver. I admit this. I get sort of distracted by the people in other cars, cows, cute houses, license plates, the yellow line in the middle of the road, stuff like that.

So last night I broke down and did what I swore I would never do - I went to Target and bought the cheapest portable DVD player they had.  I'm ashamed to admit this. I want the little angel to enjoy books and spirited, backseat conversation. I will pull this thing out only as a last resort.  Oh, and I bought Finding Nemo, too. If you're going to surrender to materialism, you might as well go all the way.