O the excitement to be had yesterday! O the wonder of it! I had occasion to Leave the House and Drive. As in, a car. A vehicle of the automotive persuasion. Hadn’t driven in days. Wondered out loud to Husband if it were possible to forget how. Legend says it’s not possible to forget how to ride a bike, though I know someone who fell off while remembering with great clarity, but driving? Insert key, shift gears, foot on gas… Gas tank has never stayed so full for so long. In fact, I think it’s accruing more. (Is this possible? Look into it. Could solve energy crisis while providing family with great personal wealth. Great personal wealth would allow me to buy my own Wegmans and dispense with constant clicking on “curbside delivery.”)

But driving: wondered what side of the road one drives on, or if it no longer matters in these apocalyptic times. What would I find beyond the gentle rolling hills of our pedestrian neighborhood? Mad Max? The desolate, barren landscape of The Book of Eli? Is it possible I watch too many movies?

But found no anarchy, remarkably little desolation. The few cars out and headed in same direction seemed inclined to stay on the right, so I joined them. A brief bout of road construction sent me on a detour of an unfamiliar neighborhood with a shocking lack of marauding bikers. Society grinds on.

NB: Have learned that Napoleon is the reason we drive on the right, and the reason all the nations he conquered—Germany, Switzerland, Russia—drive on the right. (That’s right, Germany. I’m talking to you.) There was already a shift from left to right during the French Revolution  because peasants used the right side of the road, and, well, good time to blend in. Then Napoleon firmed things up nicely by declaring that everyone would drive on the right. Napoleon very good at firming things up. Would he have succeeded in keeping Younger Child to a stricter schedule of i-Ready reading and math activities while maintaining bracingly cheerful attitude toward Mother? Not entirely sure. Napoleon famously stubborn. But Younger Child famously stubborn—one might say Napoleonically so. Note to self: look up adverbial form of “Napoleon” or, failing that, invent one.

Returning from errand, shouted at Mrs. Diagonal from safety of car with window rolled down: “Many thanks for the beautiful, beautiful blanket, but there’s no baby!” She shouted back, “Enjoy! They grow so fast!”

How to maintain sanity in face of this situation?

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