A few weeks ago Noah decided he would rather cry than sleep.  So I strapped him into his car seat, rolled down the windows and cranked the lullabies.  The boys were going cruising.

As I was making multiple right hand turns I began recall nights cruising as a youth. I grew up in Vermont, rural Vermont, more cows than people Vermont. A majority of the roads are dirt and most of our cruising was done on these roads.  We were a car full of mischievous youth driving around the countryside with the music blaring, the windows down and the heat on high, as it always seemed to be below freezing.  With no particular destination in mind and schemes that very well could have gotten us arrested we hurtled into the darkness wishing our 12AM curfews were later and hoping there were no cows in the road.

 I am brought back to my right turn monotony by a stop sign. It is 10PM, I am talking to myself and wishing I could just go home and climb into bed.   Noah has stopped screaming but that does not mean I can stop driving.  Tonight I am not creating mischievous plans; I am wondering how long it will take a concern citizen to call the police.  I keep checking my rearview mirror for flashing lights; a prolonged stop could be disastrous.  I decide that if I do see blue lights I will just keep driving.  A police chase with repeated right turns at a slow speed would be funny.  At least until they put down a spike strip. I determine that in the future it would be wise to carry a note that I could toss out the window.

I was never stopped by the police, but I did find myself sneaking into the house.  Not because I was trying not to wake my parents but because I was trying not to wake my son.  I found myself closing doors softly and tiptoeing trying to avoid the squeaky spots on the floor. Funny how life mirrors itself when you least expect it.