The Flinstones Were Onto Something...

Family road trips are... interesting... especially with young ones. The baby doesn't understand why he's got to be strapped down for eternity, the toilet trainee always wants to stop to pee off the road, either my butt or my feet are asleep (strangely never simultaneously), and my husband turns into some kind of endurance athlete.
My wonderful husband is the endurance driver. He keeps his blood stocked with plenty of caffeine and sunflower seeds. I guess the work to get the seed out helps him stay awake... and my yelling when he spills them on the floor of the car. So if anyone wants some fresh cut sunflowers, they'll be ready to harvest out of my car in a couple weeks.
What someone needs to invent is a car with a removable floor. Easy to clean. Easy to find things. Like that cell phone that fell out of your pocket between the seat and the console. You call it and you hear it ringing. But for the life of you, you don't see it. Where is that darn phone? You empty your purse, the diaper bag, your kid's backpack, the pockets on the backs of the seats that magically collect cheerios and french fries. You are getting desperate and start picking up the papers strewn on the floor: coloring pages, oil change/tire rotation documents, registration forms... that's where it went... you'll have to fill that out later. You discover scrolls written on papyrus... And then, your phone rings. You remember your quest is to find your phone, not an archaeological dig of your back seats. Your phone is so close. You wedge your face to the floor and see it! You reach for it, but your hand is too big. You take another route on the other side of the seat adjuster, you got it! Unfortunately, your hand is now stuck.
Not to worry, if the floor of your car is anything like mine after a road trip, you will be sustained on goldfish crackers and raisins for months... not to mention sunflower seeds.
Now, just imagine how much more simple it would have been to just remove the floor, retrieve your phone, shovel everything else onto the compost pile, hose it down and put it back. Wasn't that easier?
Course, now you won't have fresh cut sunflowers every time you take a drive.

Children Are Hazardous to Your Health

Children do get their fair share of owies and boo-boos. Unfortunately, so do their parents because of them.
For me, there's the everyday head bonks that come from Jude, who in his excitement, forgets his head is hard as cement and bashes it into my face. Then there's Rocky, who is teething. Enough said.
But every once in while along comes the rare injury, like when Jude dropped a heavy wooden block on my foot and broke my toe. Granted it was just the little toe, but that incident sent me to the next room (hopefully out of earshot) with a mouth full of F's and SH's.
Most recently, however, I was awaken by a framed poster crashing down on my face. Thank-you, Rocky.
How did it happen? How does any of this happen?

Here's the recipe:

1 part curious child
1 part sleeping, distracted or otherwise non-suspecting, never-think-it's-gonna-happen parent
something(s) hard (preferably with sharp edges)

Cook for .000000001 second

Viola! Injury a la mom.