In our constant battle to find creative ways to simultaneously entertain our older children and keep Cameron awake for more than 10 minute stretches, my husband and I built a makeshift racetrack around the perimeter of the first floor of our house. Several times a day, we strap Cameron into his sister's doll stroller and let the older kids take turns doing laps around the kitchen and dining rooms. To prevent catnaps (and unlawful speeding), we built in a few sharp turns and speed bumps.
At first, the kids fought over who got to push Cameron and for how long. After a few days, however, the novelty wore off. Now it's a chore.
"I need ten laps out of you while I make dinner," I told Cortlen last night.
"I don't want to!" whined the disgruntled driver in reply.
"Life is a highway," I said nervously as I nibbled on my fingernails. "You'd better get going before you get run over."
I meant what I said literally. Camber had been watching our exchange from the living room and didn't like the way that her brother was breathing on her doll stroller. As Cortlen strolled casually down the hallway, he had no way of knowing that he was about to get sideswiped by a fast-moving semi.