“Are we there yet, Daddy?” my daughter called out from the back seat of the car.
“No, honey,” my wife said. “We’re about to get on the turnpike. We still have a long way to go.”
“I’m bored,” my son said.
“Why don’t we all play I spy with my little eye?” I suggested. That lasted for about twenty minutes before my son wanted to know how much longer it would be before we got to our destination. I turned to my wife and said, “Time to give them their iPad Minis.”
“Already?” she responded.
“Yeah,” I said. “That should keep them occupied for a few hours.
Thirty minutes later my son said, “I’m hungry.” Did I say he said it? Sorry, it was more of a whine.
Then my daughter said she had to go to the bathroom real bad. “I’ll pull off at the next rest stop so everyone can go to the bathroom and we’ll get something to eat.”
“Hurry, Daddy,” my daughter said. “I really, really have to pee.”
My wife said, “Didn’t I tell you kids to go to the bathroom right before we left?”
“We did!” both kids said in unison.
Then my daughter added, “I won’t be able to hold it much longer, Daddy.” She almost sounded angry at me, as if it was my fault that she had to pee.
I looked at my wife, shrugged, and started to drive faster. “I’ll get us to the rest stop as soon as I can.”
About five minutes later I heard a siren in the distance. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw a police car pulling up quickly behind me, lights flashing. “Oh shit,” I said under my breath, “please be after someone else.”
No such luck. I pulled over to the breakdown lane and brought the car to a stop. The police car stopped right behind our car. As the officer was approaching, I heard my son say, “Way to go, Dad,”
Written for Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, where we are to use “way to go” as a phrase or in its literal sense.