“Why do you speed up so quickly?” Gwyn asks as we rip through the parking lot.
I dunno. It’s a habit, I guess.
“You should break it. I broke my nails. I mean, don’t bite them anymore.”
That’s nice. I’m remembering the last time I had a grown-up in the car and he remarked “Probably ought to keep it under sixty in the school zone.” Yeah. I’m sure you’re right. We ride on two wheels around the corner.
“Mom! Stakes are HIGH that we’re gonna crash or somethin’!”
Stakes are high? Well then, all right.
I calmly drive us to the Diet Coke drive-thru. The Blonde One wants a cherry thing and to talk.
“There was this man and he was a stalker. Stalking us in our neighborhood.”
Silence. I look over at her.
“Do you know that word? Stalking? It means watching your life when they don’t have one.”
(Turns out, probably not a stalker, but I’m on it.)
Moment prior to Christmas Dinner:
Kids, I need your help putting food on the table.
Son: I could work in a coal mine.