At church last night I was sitting behind the most adorable little boy. He was all of three years old and he had that cute little boy haircut. He was doing his best to sit through the service but he just needed to be moving. First he needed his crayons, then he needed his coloring pad, then he needed to tell his dad what he’d drawn, then his brother got involved, then his dad got involved… I wanted to lean forward and assure the parents the boy was bothering them way more than he was bothering me. As a matter of fact, I loved watching him. He wasn’t so distracting that I couldn’t pay attention but he had enough ants-in-the-pants to remind me that my days of wrangling wiggly children are long gone.
It was quite the juxtaposition: just an hour earlier I was sitting in a dealership parking lot as Sean and Michael roamed around, looking at cars. As I’ve mentioned before, Michael’s 16th birthday is looming in the not so distant future (exactly a month away) and the hunt for his first car is a constant topic of discussion. He and Sean think they’ve found the perfect car – a mid-80’s Pontiac Fiero with 40,000 miles. It’s red (a color that will go a long way in winning me over) and has new tires, plus when Sean talked to the current owner he said he wanted the car to go to someone who would love it; instantly Sean liked the guy. The first test drive is tonight. It will take all the willpower in the universe for them to not buy it on the spot.
I think my baby should drive and my opinion, while listened to, was roundly dismissed.
Yes, I realize I'm feeling a bit nostalgic. And at the risk of sounding like an old lady (which next month I will be, FYI), it seems like just yesterday I was dishing out crayons and coloring books to Michael during church. And now, I’m getting ready to hand over keys and the insurance card so he can drive off all by himself. This next stage of life will be very interesting. I’m buckling up because I’m sure it’s going to be one heck of a ride.