Raising Arizona Style, pt.2

...I had wanted to go grocery shopping, but I knew we'd probably have to go home first if the Bean needed to eat. That was fine, we could eat, maybe have a nap, and trek back over to the grocery store in the afternoon. The Moeb was, as yet, still asleep. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard, and did a few calculations in my head:

Car-seat Car (C2) + 35min = home (h).
Moeb (M) + 15min = hungry (H).
(M) + 35min = Frantic Moeb (FM).
(FM) x Hungry Bean (HB) = Screaming Bean (SB)
35min - 15min = 20min.
(FM) x (SB) + 20min = Swerving (C2).

"Hey, buddy. How about some chicken and fries?"

So we pulled into the drive-thru at Burger King. The Moeb was still asleep. A polite young woman came on the little voice-box and asked if we wanted to try the new Bacon-Hickory-Angus-Garbleburger. I said no, and after a pause the woman changed into a teenage boy, and asked if he could take our order. There was a distance to his monochromatic voice that went beyond the mere distance from his headset to the outdoor amplifier; as if his body resided at the Burger King second window, but his mind was far, far away. I ordered a kids meal with apple juice and apple fries for the Bean, a double-cheeseburger and large fries for dad, and an overly-specific cup of warm water for the Moeb. I chuckled as I tried to explain:

"You see, I have a baby girl in here and I need to make her a bot—"

"Will that be everything for you today?" he auto-responded.

"Yes, thank you."

As we pulled up to the window I, in a series of fluid movements, got my debit card out, cleared the cup holders of previous occupants, made space on the seat next to me, and paused William Sutherland. The Moeb spluttered a warning cough from the back seat. The Bean took a deep breath.

"I want chickenandfries," he said, patiently.

"You got it, buddy. I've almost got them."

The teenager at the window handed me my debit card, two bags, and a surprisingly accurate cup of luke-warm water. He instructed me to have a nice day—which we happened to already be doing, but I didn't bother pointing that out—and I told him to do the same. I don't know if he took me seriously. Then, with a flick of the steering wheel, a blinker, and little bit of luck we turned left onto State Street and headed South. I regaled the Bean with wonderful tales about the amazing chicken nuggets he was about to eat, and told him stories of french fries and apple juice.

I decided that we would picnic in the Sunflower Market parking lot, and a few lights later we were there. I pulled into the shadiest spot I could find, rolled down the windows a few inches, and set about moving the two front seats all the way up.

Now this is where it was going to get critical. I was about to turn the car off, and the Moeb was going to know it. And when she figured out the car was off she was going to go through her list of "am I" questions: "Am I asleep? No. Am I hungry? Yes—" and that's as far as she was going to need to get. I knew that in a matter of seconds her super-computer brain would run that program and begin to sound the alarm. I therefore had a very small window in which to climb between the two front seats, turn the Moeb's car-seat around to face me, get the lid off of the really quite impressively luke-warm water, make a bottle, say a blessing, give the Bean some chickenandfries, unbuckle the Moeb, and prevent Global Warming. I took a deep breath. I was ready.

Off went the ignition. I listened for a fraction of a second. No protests. So far so good. I threw myself feet first over the armrest. I landed deftly in the back, didn't step on anything gooey or fragile, and checked that the diaper bag was at the ready. I turned the Moeb's car-seat around, and... she was smiling at me with the crinkly infant smile of contentment. I was momentarily confused. Her eyes didn't burn with hunger. I looked back at the clock on the dashboard, and it didn't lie. My math added up. But she just giggled at me, and began eating her fingers again. I didn't lose my focus long, however.

"Please, I want chickenandfries." So I covered my toddler in napkins, unbuckled him, recovered him in napkins and sent him to work on his kid's meal, while I got the Moeb her own liquid kid's meal going, and with my free hand snuck a few french fries for Dad.

So here we were eating, staring at each other, smiling, talking about chickenandfries in about 3 square feet of space, and it was good. I was feeling a bit like Guilliver with the Lilliputians, but after they untie him. They had forgotten to put Apple Fries in the Bean's kid's meal, but he had an apple juice anyway and I thought what the heck, we can go buy an apple at the Sunflower Market after lunch. I didn't have a knife, but I figured I'd just judo chop it into slices without the skins on. I was that confident in my father skills at this point. And then, everyone in the car (except me) started pooping.

...to be continued.