My Backseat Driver

Today I had to take Josh to the doctor. So, being a bit frazzled and behind schedule (due to having to change TWO diapers when I needed to be walking out the door) we rush off to make our appointment.
My sweet three year old son is in the back seat, talking a mile a minute. I catch myself starting to get irritated when he repeats things over and over and over. "Mom, those guys are building a hotel." He points to the construction crews. "Yes, that's right." I answer him. "They build that hotel. That hotel. That hotel. They are building it. That's a hotel." He repeats just in case I didn't catch it on the first go around. "Uh huh, yes Honey. Hotel." I am trying to change lanes.
Then he starts in on my driving. "You go faster Mom!" He demands. He yells out the colors of the stoplights, even the ones that are on the side streets. Then he points and commands from his booster seat, "You turn here Mom!" or "You go on that bridge, you drive there okay?" Or he makes note of the road that we are on; telling me if it's curving up ahead or going straight.
As our lane of traffic starts to merge onto the freeway, Josh is upset that I'm not going faster. I tell him that there are other cars in front of me and a big rig too. I explain that we have to wait our turn. I'm on the Mom-Autopilot, because mentally I'm calculating if we will be on time for the appointment or if we will be about 3 minutes late. Joshy continues to chatter away about my driving and the cars around us.
Finally we are on the freeway and I've gotten stuck behind the big rig. I check my mirrors, look over my shoulder and start to pass it. Our little minivan is gaining speed as we cruise past the truck. My son calls out from the back seat, "Watch out, Mom. There's a cop up there." I glance quickly at my speed. I'm scanning the cars in front of me, checking the median and shoulder area of the freeway for State Troopers before I realize what he actually just said.
Wait a second.... WHAT? Now where did that come from?! I look in the rear view mirror at my innocent little blonde-haired boy. I think he's been driving around with his dad a bit too much.