Raising Arizona Style, pt.1

Sometimes, it is surprisingly difficult to wrangle 44lbs of children. Sometimes, it is graceful and paternally exhilarating. The latter was the case this past Thursday, when I decided to take the kids to run a few errands while Mom was at work.

You see, my sister (see: codename:Irma Mac) had been staying with us for a few months as she prepared to serve a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and she brought all of her stuff down with her when she came. Far from an inconvenience, Irma Mac rented an obscenely over-huge storage unit right by our house, filled it about 1/8th full, and gave the rest of the space to us. The unit was gargantuan in proportions because they were out of the petite size Irma wanted, and they offered it to her at a discount. Then, as if free cubic feet wasn't enough, when my sister entered the Missionary Training Center last week she left us her car. We've been a one car family since right before our first child was born (you know: add a body, lose a car. Standard young family math). It's been good for us—if by good for us you mean that it has been a real pain—but the thought of having transportation for my kids and I during the day was exciting enough on Thursday morning to get me simultaneously washing bottles, feeding an infant (the Moeb), clothing a toddler (the Bean) and packing a diaper bag before 9am.

We had left my wife's cell phone at an undisclosed location a week ago, along with the Bean's Chick Hicks and brand new Ramone. It was about an hour away, and I thought that surely with two vehicles this would be a great opportunity for a road-trip w/Dad. Mom agreed, and took the Subaru to work, and I took the Car-seat Car. I figured we'd run to the Mystery Lodge, and go grocery shopping on the way back. Well, the baby breakfast stars aligned so we got loaded and moving about oh-nine-hundred hours. On the way up we listened to The Voyages of Doctor Doolittle on CD, read by William Sutherland—who, incidentally, sounds like the Rock-Biter ate James Earl Jones, and then moved to the English countryside. Bean fell asleep, and so did the Moeb, but I think Tommy Stubbins is fascinating and I stayed awake.

I pulled up to the Mystery Lodge, parked in the Garage, ran inside—question number three on the pediatrician's check-up survey: Do you ever, even briefly, leave your child unattended in the car? A. Yes.—found the phone, found Chick Hicks, found Ramone, back in the car, back into town.

Just as we got to the bottom of the canyon I peered in the rear-view mirror and saw that the Bean was waking up. About ten minutes later he emitted a short, frantic yelp, then calmly looked back out the window. At this point I knew the timer was running down.

"Are you hungry, buddy?"

"Yes," my two year old very articulately responded.

"Ok, we'll get some lunch..."

...to be continued.