Our Park-In Movie

Author's Note: When you pack up your car with blankets and snacks, drive to an outdoor theater, park in a grassy lot, and sleep through watch a double feature, it's called a drive-in movie. 

When your husband accidentally leaves for work with your keys in his pocket and you were all packed and ready in the car and so now you sort of want to freeze time until he comes back but you end up making the best of the situation with your toddler--who is still in the car--and is looking at you like what in Big Bird's name are we doing right now, it's called a park-in movie.

It's funny how things work out sometimes.  Like for some reason, I chose last night to clean out and organize the back seat of the car.  The place also known as "the pit."  Where stuff like dvd cases, broken happy meal toys, bouncy balls, shredded napkins, and sand have all accumulated at an exponential rate.  I had had enough.  I went and bought a couple of plastic storage bins and organized the books and movies, threw out a bunch of goodfornothing-ness, and finally gave the back seat its much needed face lift.  We were feeling good folks.

Fast forward to this morning.  Phil and I were both commenting on how on our little man turned 21 months old today.  He's practically married.  He'll be driving himself to work soon.  Does he know how to get to Starbucks?...

But anyway, we were having such a great morning together.  Phil decided to take Jackie on some errands while I got ready (this is why I love him!) and when they got back, we would all go have breakfast together.

Phil drove separately because he had one more stop and then would be leaving to go to work directly from the restaurant.  As his truck backed out of the driveway, I waved and motioned to him that we'd meet him there, and I took a couple extra minutes to gather my essentials (coffee), as well as Jackie's essentials (everything else that Mommy must carry). 

The car looked so nice. "Way to go, Karen," I thought.  Now you can relax knowing that at least one thing is clean.  Even if only so-very-temporary.

But as I started fumbling around the usual places for the car keys, it hit me that we weren't going anywhere, Houston, because all the problems eventually find me.  We are like a magnetic pull toward one another, me and Problems.  As it turned out, Phil had mistakenly taken them in his pocket, and I knew he'd be well on his way and too far to just turn around now. 

After I called Phil to confirm he had them, I looked at Jackie.  He was so happy, content in his car seat, smiling and appreciating that the place was spiffed up.  He had his water, his Goldfish, and to him, life was perfect.  Why ruin this, I thought.  So I decided to get back there with him and read a couple of stories.  We shared some fish crackers, and then we put in a movie.  He loves Disney's Up and he shouts out "Grandpa!" at least two dozen times during the first few scenes. 

I kept looking over at him.  This 21-month old little boy who could sit here patiently next to his Mama (completely satisfied with his present company and snacks), and just take it all in.  We didn't plan this "excursion."  It cost us nothing but a little bit of time.  And yet, we couldn't have asked for a better "date" together.  It was perfect.  We had everything we needed.  Just the two of us.  Laughing and talking.  Munching and hugging.  Reading and watching. 

And of course, waiting and WAITING for Daddy to get back with those dingdang keys.