Momma Eluding the Po-Po

It started out well. Our road trip to Florida, that is. Bright sunny skies, an open road and a CD case full of movies that my son loves...what could go wrong? I mean life was good. I had energy, good music and folks, I even had cute hair goin on.

Yeah, well...fast forward 10 hours later.

The Florida Turnpike is a long, longgggggggggggggggggggggggggggg endless road completely devoid of civilization except for a service plaza every 45 miles. I was drivin, singing and READY TO GET OUT OF THE CAR. My journey began at 11:30am and it was now knocking on 9pm. It was dark, ya'll. NO LIGHTS to be found...on the horizon or otherwise. Where is Orlando, I asked myself? Shouldn't I be seeing some sign of life somewhere?

I began to worry.

And, to add to the fun--I have less than a quarter tank of gas. To say panic was setting in would be putting it lightly. So, I call my hubby. After finding me on the map based on the last mile marker he shouts into the phone, "YOU PASSED IT FORTY MILES AGO!"

Yeah, I was on my way to Miami.

"Turn around!," he shouted, um, I mean ... gently encouraged.

"I'm trying! There's no turnaround!!!" I screamed, um, I mean... calmly replied.

My heart was racing. By this point, I'm watching the needle dip below the 1/4 tank mark and my oh-so-distracted child is now paying attention.

"Why are we lost, Mommy?"

"We're not LOST, baby...Mommy just missed the turn. We're turning around."

"Where, Mommy? And are we gonna run outta gas?"

For the love of Pete. Why does he choose to pay attention now?

My hubby calls again and I explain that there is a cut-through that is for police only but I'm going to have to take it or I'll run out of gas. Well, that's all it took.

"Mommy, that is illegal. You can't turn around there."

"Sweetie," I said with words dripping with tension, "it'll be OK."

Silence.

I whip through the cut-through and head back north.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Who am I gonna be with when you get arrested?"

I couldn't help but chuckle as I rub my temple--now throbbing.

We finally pull up to the next service plaza and there are, of course, 3 police parked near the entrance.

"Uh, oh," Daniel exclaims. "They're here."

That child cracks me up.

I pull up to the cops to ask them how in the heck to get to the Orlando airport area. As I was getting directions, Daniel is shouting in a loud whisper from the back seat: "tell 'em, Momma! Tell e'm what you did!""

Thank heavens that my child has sense of right and wrong. Now I just need to work on his timing! :-)