Sunday Scribblings: Follow

The thing about inspiration is you can't predict when it will hit you. It just comes.

I never would have expected to get the best idea of my life driving home after picking up a take-n-bake pizza. The kids were tormenting each other from the back seat. There was lots of screaming and possibly some scratching. I was doing brain yoga: deep breathing, counting to ten, thinking of my happy place.

My techniques were only marginally effective.

At the very moment I was about to lose it and do something that would certainly impair my ability to keep the car on the road, my mind was enlightened.

I am not a Nascar follower. Not that there's anything wrong with it; I just don't feel compelled to watch cars drive around in circles at high speeds for long periods of time.

However, if Nascar would put a couple of kids in the back seat of each of those cars as an added degree of difficulty to the drivers, Nascar might just be my new favorite sport.

I’d like to see how professional drivers compete while two kids argue, scream and take swipes at each other in the back seat. What about when one of them has to pee or claims he’s about to throw up?

Oh! This is something I’d pay to watch.

The driver, of course, would have to hand back juice boxes and snacks to pacify the kids while a Wiggles CD plays on the stereo.

A licensed therapist would join the pit crew, dispensing coping techniques through the driver’s side window at the same time tires are changed and fuel is refilled. During pit stops, the driver would have to take the kids out of their car seats, accompany them to a restroom, and then back to the car again, where he’d have to re-strap them back into their car seats.

Of course I’d want the whole car wired so we could hear all the insanity-inducing action.

I suspect if Nascar did take my advice their fan base would increase by 50%, crashes* would increase by 200% and mothers would win Nascar races 95% of the time.

Now that is something I’d follow.

*please don’t think I want little kids to crash in fiery balls of smashed up race car. Instead of real kids, we could use those crash test dummy kids with real kids voicing the fighting and complaining from a safe location.