Backseat Drivers

On Sunday, I took the girls to Boston to visit Grammy. Now, I am NOT a city driver and I don't know Boston very well -- details as proof to follow.

We were driving along on our merry way, when we came to a juncture and I wasn't exactly sure which way to go. I could go with my gut, or go with the signs. Well, I went with the signs (lesson: Don't ever go against your gut. Your gut is on your side. Your gut is also your side. Ha, ha.)

Anyway... I ended up driving down Storrow Drive -- which I knew wasn't right, since I was supposed to go to Cambridge -- across the river. I had enough sense to get off at Kenmore Square (a familiar part of Boston) and sat in the safe shadow of the Citgo sign. Too bad it wasn't April.

Of course the wrong turn coincided with a freak snow squall and a look of doom filled the gray sky. I told the girls that I needed to think because we were lost and that they shouldn't talk to me.

Riley said, "I think you should call daddy."

Guess we know who has faith in Mumma.

I said, "You think we should call daddy?"

She said, "Yes. Daddy knows how to drive. You -- for you, I say you know how to work."

Well! Can't argue with that logic!

So I called Jon who promptly navigated me over the river to our destination.

When I got off the phone, the girls asked, "What did he say?"

I explained that he told me which roads to take by looking at maps on the computer and telling me to turn right or left onto certain roads. (Another of my lengthy explanations.)

Intrigued by the computer part, Riley asked, "Did he see our car?"

Dad may be good, but he's not THAT good.