Two hands? I realise I'm driving with one hand idling on my knee.
"Two hands, Mummy" the little voice quips once again.
I correct my minor misdemeanour, both hands on the wheel and checking mirrors as if I'm back in my driving test. All is well for a while, we chat about what's for dinner and how I'm going to make it and then again I hear:
"Two hands Mummy!" then more urgently "Do it!
I'm cough guiltily like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. And then I realise I've turned a corner losing my left hand to the gearstick, albeit momentarily. Slightly bemused, we carry on the conversation, only for me to realise that every time I take my left hand off the wheel, hawkeye-Grace in the back will be on my case.
This is all well and good, I counted only fifteen rounds of gear changing on the way home today, enough to niggle at even the most battle-hardened school-run Mums. I'm stymied though - I'm driving us from Yorkshire to Cornwall in a few weeks and the thought of answering the to the 10-2 Police in the back is already filling me with dread!
|Excited at the prospect of a day at nursery!|