We are driving.
Well, Scott is driving. I don’t even have to remember if that’s true. Because it is. I hate driving. Conflictingly enough, I also hate Scott driving. Because he’s a bad driver. After multiple arguments over me NOT WANTING TO DRIVE and me TELLING HIM HOW TO DRIVE, we’ve compromised (marriage, eh? I’m also thinking of becoming a Canadian blogger.) and now I spend most of our drive quietly looking like this:
FYI: It's hard to take a self-portrait while covering your eyes.
Back to the car… Scott and I are discussing deep and insightful stuff while I silently pray for a quick death due-to-driving-skill.
Suddenly E interrupts (not sure if you can interrupt without suddenness. I’ll try this week and let you know. Or forget. Anyway.) E says: Don’t talk, Dada. I’m tweeting out my blog.
Me (to Scott): E has a big blog. He told me yesterday.
E: Mama! DON’T TALK! I’m tweeting out my BIG blog.
A few minutes of uncomfortable silence goes by as I watch E use an imaginary iPhone to get on Twitter.
E: Okay, you can talk now. I’m done tweeting out my blog.
Me (to Scott): See? I don’t make them wait long.
Scott: Oh, I don’t think you say that to the kids.
Me: Well, that’s very nice to think.
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