My Driver, Miss Daisy

Our son with the learner’s permit needs to log another 35 hours before he turns 16. So, he drove me to school this morning. Twenty-three minutes.

He noticed that I kept peeking in the passenger side mirror.

“Mom, there’s no one behind me. You’ve got to chill.”

A few minutes later…

“It’s so weird, no one has been behind me the whole ride. I’m killin’ it.”

“They’re all passing you in the other lane.”

“No, they’re not,” as yet another car zoomed past. Then, “Oh.”

“Driving below the speed limit is just as disruptive as driving too fast. Especially during rush hour, when people are rushing.”

“So, you’re calling me Grandma?”

In Defense of the Minivan

Driving home in our minivan last night, my son asked, “Why do Dads always tell jokes about minivans?”

“Because the only people who drive minivans are moms who need to cart around their kids to swimming or soccer or piano lessons. And no one thinks moms are cool.”

“It depends on the mom,” he said with great thought.

“Yep,” but I didn’t press my luck.

“And I like our minivan.”

“Me too.”

Bananas and Bowling

My sister got in a minor car crash this morning after dropping our two kids off at preschool. I think I’ve got the story straight.

She was stopped at a red light, waiting to make a left turn.

A car, still at full speed despite the red signal, rammed into the back of her completely stopped, silver auto.

The elderly (possibly eighty?) woman who hit my sister was flustered, then seemed to lose it completely.

“I am sorry. I was peeling my banana. I didn’t see you.”


“I didn’t even want to go bowling today. Now I’m never going to bowl over 100.”

Excuse me, lady?

“I knew I shouldn’t have bowled today.”

My sister’s response, “You shouldn’t even be driving.”