Alan and I are finally learning how to have a life beyond co-parenting once again. After seven years of little ones, we have been able to get into a regular dating habit again. At first we didn't know how to relax at a restaurant together without the demands of cutting up food for others, overseeing the no-spilling initiative, managing the negotiations over who got what color crayons in their kid's menu pack, explain for the 10th time why we are not ordering soda, etc. etc. etc. Yes, it is sheer bliss just to sit. . . and eat. . . slowly. But lest our dates be all food-based, we decided to shake it up and be a little wild-n-crazy one night. Or, as wild and crazy as two sleep deprived, 30-somethings get with a 9:30pm babysitter deadline. And so it was. . .
Alan is first, I'm behind him
off to the races! We doubled with my brother and his wife for a little extreme go-kart challenge. These are not your grandma's go-karts, however. And the helmet and jumpsuit were not just for dress-up. On the liability waiver we had to sign it actually did mention the potential death risk. Maybe for some drivers it would be. For me, I learned, there would be no such risk. I realized something about myself. Now that I have four carseats in my car, I drive differently. I drive slower, I let cars merge (aka cut me off) without resistance, I listen to different car tunes and at a different volume. I think I have possibly become . . . rEsPOnsiBLe?! Apparently, that mother-hen driving style spills over. And so all suited up, I squeezed my self into the driver's seat of the kart, revved my engine to intimidate my husband with whom I had made some high stakes bet of dish duty or something, waited for the green light and I was off like a speed demon. Or at least I thought I was. I was eating Alan's dust in no time. On the third and fourth laps I actually had the track monitor hold up his "Stop Riding Your Brakes!" sign to me. I was pitiful. I could not be wild and crazy no matter how hard I tried. Perhaps it is because I have been driving around with this on my window too long. . .
