Cripes

Just when I think it's safe to go outside...

My twelve year old is quite the young lady. She begins seventh grade tomorrow morning and I'm so very proud of her.

She's tall (five feet, six inches) and looks every bit of nineteen.

In addition, she's responsible and mature for her age and this summer has learned very well how to run and manage a household. She has also been handsomely paid for her services.

After we picked the wee child up from day school today and stopped at the mail box, I thought it was time to teach the older daughter how to drive. On at least one occasion, I believe her father has allowed her to drive down a country road in his truck, but I have never taught anyone how to drive.

With the four-year-old secure in the back seat, I moved onto the passenger side and allowed Sweet One to get behind the wheel. She adjusted the seat, tried out the controls, and fiddled with this, that, and the other. The whole while she had an enormous smile on her face.

With brief instructions, I guided her through putting my new car in gear and eased her onto the suburban streets of our neighborhood.

She was a little rough on the stops and starts, but understood the rudiments of stopping at stop signs, looking both ways, and staying on the right hand side of the road.

Turns are something altogether different.

Jesus.H.Christ.

Who in the hell guns the engine in the middle of a ninety degree right turn?!

Fortunately, no harm was done, at least not to the car or anyone's yard.

Now, if you don't mind, I'm off to kiss the ground again and, perhaps, throw up.