Whilst deliberating over several identical brands of cereal, a silver-haired woman asked me, "Your kids are potty trained? Congratulations! You're on easy street 'til they start dating."
Diapers and dating are the only milestones every parent dreads and celebrates?
The lady forgot driving, or should I say dying. I suppose dying at the hands of your daughters rather than a stranger should be flattering, in an "et tu Brute" kind of way.
It was a lazy Summer afternoon when my life flashed before my eyes. I had just dismounted our friend's small airplane with my youngest daughter. Flying in a tin can was nothing compared to what happened next. Two of my darling girls approached me, asking if I'd like a ride in the airport golf car. These two saintly children normally argue about vastly important topics such as who is breathing more than her share of air or who should enter the house first.
But united they were today - my first clue that I was in for a surprise.
Daughter #2 jumped into the front seat of the golf car - my second clue. This kid abhors moving objects, unless of course they become out of her control. Teaching her to ride a bike was a cardiac inducing experience.
Third clue - Daughter #1 grins and says, "you're going to looove this."
These two angels make Danica Patrick look like a harmless manatee. The girls think driving on all four wheels is optional, a mere suggestion. Their idea of golf car dancing is alternating between the brake and gas pedals to the rhythm of One Republic's Love Runs Out.
Diapers - check. Drivng - check. Dating - heaven help me.