Who you tryin' to get crazy with, ese?

Don't you know I'm loco?*

Last week, when we were driving down to Oceanside, Viva declared war on me, with (as far as I'm concerned) practically no provocation on my part. She was whiny and complaining for virtually the entire 95-mile ride. I won't get into all of it here, because I have conveniently blanked out certain nasty bits in my brain. However, at one point about 45 miles into the drive, Viva started screaming that she couldn't get her shoe off. To be helpful and to make the screeching stop, I reached into the back seat (while driving at about 3,000 mph), felt around for her foot, pulled her shoe off, and dropped it onto the floor. She then started screaming even more loudly: "I need my shoe! I want my shoe ON!"

Oh, people. The reason they make toddlers so damn cute is so you won't drive the car off the fucking road when they do things like this. I patiently explained that we were in the carpool lane and driving very fast, that she had said she wanted her shoe off, and that she was just going to have to live with it like that until the car stopped. After I calmed her down from that hissyfit, she started this a few minutes later:

Viva [screaming bloody murder]: I'm stuck! I'm STUCK! My shoulder! My neck!, etc.

Mama [looking back quickly once we get on a straight stretch of road, and realizing she is complaining about her car seat straps]: You're not stuck. That's your seatbelt.

Viva [suddenly calm]: Huh?

Mama: That's your SEATBELT. You need it to stay safe, remember? I wear a seatbelt, you have to wear a seatbelt, everybody has to wear a seatbelt to be safe in the car. [surprised not to hear any further protest from the peanut gallery] God, I'm losing my mind.

Viva: You want it back, Mama? You want it back?

Mama [laughing, but serious]: YES! By God, YES, I would like it back. Have you seen it?

Okay, so yesterday, this weird whininess returned. Again, we were in the car. Viva was complaining about everything: the fact that I had no juice box for her, the price of gas, how much her arthritis has been bothering her, you name it. This was punctuated by her asking me every couple of minutes, "Where are you going?" Since I had told her where we were going already about 18 times, I got just the tiniest bit fed up.

Mama: I don't know about you, but I am going lulu, crazy, totally bananas, 'round the bend!

Viva [suddenly really, really mad and on the verge of tears]: I don't want to go around the bend! I don't want to go around the bend!

Mama: Oh. My. GAWD.

* Apologies to Cypress Hill, but surely I'm not the only one who's misappropriated their lyrics.