Backseat driver...

Dear son my precious child, yes, I see the light is green...no, I cannot go unless I drive over the car in front of me...no, I can't turn around and look at the tractor...yes, I like the balloons at the car lot...no, I can't drive faster because the police will take me to jail if I go too fast...yes, police are nice but mommy going to jail isn't a good wait to meet one...

Whatever part of my husband's DNA that makes him feel the need to instruct me on how to drive unfortunately has carried over to our son.  *side note...I have a much better driving record than my husband...  **second side note...if you ever see my husband on the side of the road, he gave me one to many driving instructions and was forced to walk home...  Driving with a toddler or any child is an adventure on its own.  Throw in driving instructions from the backseat from said child, and speed limits will eventually get pushed.  Just this past weekend, I drove about 2 hours to a baby shower, my son in tow.  The entire trip, I was informed of every traffic light, stop sign, tractor, lawn mower, cow, horse, train, lions, tigers and bears, OH MY!  Seriously, is there something in the male DNA that encourages this?  He is three!!!  I was trapped in my SUV, with a 3 year old driving instructor, on an unfamiliar road, in an unfamiliar place, and no matter how hard you try, finding that happy place is like finding Waldo in a sea of red and white stripes.  Being the perpetual planner, I thought I had all of my bases covered.  I had the DVD player loaded, music playing, blankie within reach of the toddler seat, and it was nap time!  Apparently, he didn't get the memo on nap time and somehow was able to multitask watching the movie and critiquing my driving.  Quite impressive really.  Before I knew it, I was driving faster than the little road signs suggested and as luck would have it, met a police car.  I did what any responsible parent would do.  I slammed my brakes and pretended to be distracted by my backseat passenger.  I used big hand gestures pointing to the train car on display beside the road, craned my neck back like I was in deep conversation (channeled my best Hoke driving Ms. Daisy), and kept on going.  What couldn't be seen were the beads of sweat forming on my forehead, bladder going into fits of "should it stay or should it go," and my pulse speeding up as I was trying to slow down.  Either I played the role incredibly convincingly, or I looked so crazy that he didn't want to take a chance.  Regardless, I took a different route home just in case.