Today I had big plans to run a bunch of errands while Peter’s mom watched Alethea.  Of course, it took me longer than I had anticipated (it always does!) to get Lydia fed and changed and loaded into the car.  And then once I actually got in the car and started it, I realized the gas gauge was showing I had less than an eighth of a tank of gas.

It was at that point that the internal debate started.  I didn’t really want to stop for gas right away.  I was already behind my planned schedule and making a stop at the neighborhood station was slightly out of my intended route.  Plus I wasn’t sure how warm the car would get before I arrived at the station and I was thinking Lydia might end up sitting in a cold car while I pumped gas, so I was on the verge of just heading down the interstate and seeing how long it took for the gas light to come on.

But then I heard it… a voice in my head saying, “It’s 10 degrees outside and you have an infant in the backseat.  Do you really want to risk running out of gas and being stranded on the side of the road?”

Now you might think that it was just my own reasonable side sounding its opinion, but I knew better, I recognized that voice… it was my father talking to me.

Funny thing about that, my father’s voice rarely gives me advice in my head, but it seems like every time it does, it’s somehow related to being prepared in a potentially dangerous situation.  I’m not sure what that says about the psychology of my relationship with my father, but I suppose someday when my car breaks down as I attempt to cross a barren tundra, I’ll be able to turn to my children and say, “You know those emergency freeze-dried rations you are eating, you can thank your grandfather for those.”