Dangerous

Yesterday Lauren and I met our friends for lunch at a cute little restaurant downtown. Lauren is not one of those children who can sit and color for 30 minutes waiting patiently for her food to come so we pack a small book bag full of fun activities and snacks. Her book bag has wheels on it so that she can roll it herself like an itty bitty flight attendant. This works well for both of us since I am one of those mothers who is easily embarrassed/ brought to tears by psychotic behavior in public. The restaurant is downtown so you have to park right on the street. Thankfully it is not parallel parking or I probably would have spent a good 45 minutes backing up, pulling forward, opening the door to see if I’m still 4 feet from the curb, trying to remember which blinker I am supposed to have on, backing up, pulling forward, and finally giving up and parking 10 blocks away and huffing it back to the restaurant with Lauren and her book bag in tow. Overall things went well, by the time we were ready to pay and leave I was only partially covered in soggy cheerios and bits of play-doh and my blood pressure was only slightly elevated. We headed out the door towards the car and begin walking down the sidewalk when all of the sudden I look back just in time to see Lauren and the Strawberry Shortcake book bag zip between two cars headed right for the street and on coming traffic. I raced back to grab her, screaming her name in that tone that goes beyond serious and more into hysteria. I caught up to Lauren and the book bag before they made it into the street but my blood pressure was off the charts and my underarms dripping and itching- not sure why that happens but it has to be genetic because my mother’s armpits itch when she’s scared. I scooped up Lauren and the backpack telling her how dangerous that was, cars will hurt you, you never go in the street without holding mommy’s hand, Santa doesn’t come for little children who run wild in the street, etc… I got Lauren all buckled up, looked around for traffic, and started backing up out of our parking spot, at which point I heard a terrible CRUNCH. My armpits started sweating and itching again as I checked my mirrors for children, geriatrics, and small animals. I saw no one so I figured it must have been a cup or something that some irresponsible person had left behind. I backed up a little further and saw what had made the crunch. To my horror, there, covered with the tracks of my very own tires, lay the Strawberry Shortcake rolling book bag that goes with us everywhere because Lauren loves it. I pulled forward and retrieved the busted bag. Aside from the missing wheel and tire tred it looked OK. Perhaps I was flustered from my child nearly being run over, perhaps I was subconsciously trying to make a point about how dangerous cars can be, I don’t know. I do know that anyone who runs over their child's favorite backpack with all of their little treasures inside, will not be eligible for mother of the year.