We had one of those mornings this morning where getting out of the house on time was never an option. You know the kind of morning: you check your work email then think to yourself I’ll just sort this one thing out and next thing you know half an hour has passed you by. You hurry to get dressed, feed the dogs, prep Bubba’s bag for kindy then go to get your gorgeous warm Love Bug out of bed.

Except she doesn’t want to get out of bed {can’t say I blame her – it is the middle of winter!}; and she wants to take her pyjamas off on her own … once she’s let you talk her into actually taking them off and not wearing them to kindy that is. Then she just generally wants to be silly about everything. In the most adorable way so as to make it impossible to be anything but incredibly grateful she’s yours.

Of course, then she wants to be the one to put her pyjamas in the washing machine, and her nappy in the rubbish, and get the treats out for her fuzzy loves. All of this takes time. Longer than you might think. And it’s all narrated. You know, just in case you missed a step or weren’t watching.

Then we have the drawn out process of getting from the house to the car {approximately 10 steps!} because someone wants to be the one to open and close the baby gate, the front door, the security door, the front fence and press the button to unlock the car. And you can’t possibly then just lift your Bubba into her car seat. Oh no. You need to stand her on the floor in the back of the car and let her climb up into her seat. After she’s placed Easter Rabbit on the seat beside her. Just so.

Given all of the above, why on earth would I – once I’ve finally gotten behind the wheel of the car and driven half a block – stop the car and get out again?

This.

Uh oh mumma!!!
What Bubba?
I neeeeeeeeeeed kiss cuggle!
Now Bubba?
Now mumma, now. Hurry!

I figure that’s worth stopping the car for.

Every. Single. Time.