10-2 Police

Driving home from nursery today, a voice (my muse perhaps) pipes up with some friendly advice... "Two hands!"

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!