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We’re back home in Charlotte. We had fun in Tennessee.
The last 24 hours have been challenging, though. Two-year-olds aren’t built for travel.
At one point today, after we stopped for drive-through lunch and after he played with the Happy Meal toy, Max asked for fries. I gave him his fries. Then he asked for apple slices, which I also gave him.
He ate everything. We were on the road, making good time, and all was well. Max’s car seat in back is on the opposite side of the driver’s seat, so I can see him and hand him things. I glanced over my shoulder, and he was content.
And then he asked for the chicken nuggets.
He was quiet, and all of a sudden, as I was passing a truck on the outside of a sharp turn in the mountains near the North Carolina border, a half-eaten nugget hit the steering wheel. Before I could figure out what it was, a full nugget hit the back of my head.
Then two more flew at me, right on top of each other, like rapid fire. One hit the dash and landed in my lap. Another hit the windshield.
The rest of the ride, which really wasn’t the greatest up to that point anyway, went downhill from there.
