“Mom, can I sit in the driver’s seat?” my oldest says to me.
After some consideration, torturing her during my silence, we switch seats. She eagerly gets behind the wheel, car running in the parking lot (we were waiting for my husband to return from picking up medication). “Can I press this button?” motioning for some radio doohickey.
“Sure,” I blurb, peering at her, wondering what the next question will be.
She tries the seats, the windows, locking and unlocking them, asking questions about what this does, or what that does. I realize the days of childhood are slowly fading with her, she’s showing just how old she’s getting with her switch of interests, and sudden fascination with the family minivan. “How about the gas pedal, can I press down on it?”
Whoa nelly, here we go, I thought to myself. Ah, what harm could it do, the van is parked. “Sure honey, but just a little, don’t overdo—”
“-it...” I finally finish.
“WHOOPSIE,” she giggles with that look on her face that screams MORE MORE MORE!
I think I just got grayer.