A matter of perspective

There are certain things in this world that I didn't understand before I had kids. Child leashes, for one (not that I would ever put DOM on one, but I sure as heck understand the sentiment now). Scrapbooking. And, as a person who dabbles in both environmental and urban design issues, I really did not approve of drive through windows. They take people off the street (a detriment to the vitality of a city) and contribute to more polluting vehicle exhaust emissions. However, since DOM has come into my life, I've found myself growing irrationally fond of the drive through ATM near our house, pay-at-the-pump gas stations, and drive through coffee shops. Because if you are just trying to make a quick stop to get some money, fill up the car with gas, pick up your dry cleaning, or grab a quick iced grande vanilla skim latte, the very last thing you want to do is park, unbuckle your child from her car seat, coax her out of the car, complete your five-minute errand, coax the child back into her seat, rebuckle the belts, and collapse exhausted into the driver seat after a two-minute errand has turned into a 30-minute stop complete with two meltdowns and a running "don't touch that" commentary track.

Erma's ghost

I have been a huge fan of Erma Bombeck ever since I was a teenager. How unhip is that? But I'm a sucker for humor in all its forms, and she was laugh-out-loud funny on so many levels. However, now that I'm a mom, I find myself not only appreciating her writing on a whole new level, but also recalling bits and pieces in the course of each day. For example, when I drive past a cemetary near our house, I remember her talking about finding a house with the perfect neighbors -- but that there aren't too many houses between two cemetaries.

Today I was reminded of this gem: "There is nothing more miserable in the world than to arrive in paradise and look like your passport photo." Eight days to Paris, one more magazine to get out before then. Looking like my passport photo will be a step up.