First she has to get a pillow to sit on.
Then she reaches down and pulls her seat in close.
And then even closer.
She looks in the mirror, and she likes what she sees.
Then her hand snakes forward and gives a little twist to the right ...
And the engine roars to life.
Oh my stars. My little girl is behind the wheel of a car.
The Roo-girl finally had her first official driving lesson, which then, according to our state law, finally validates her learner's permit and allows her to get behind the wheel of a large deadly weapon with her mother in the death seat.
Please hold me.
Actually, she is doing well. A little nervous yet and not paying as much attention to detail to suit me, but we're all still in one piece.
And she is pleased with me as well.
I am actually a very calm driving instructor, even though I must tell you that there is nothing in this world -- and I seriously mean NOTHING in this world -- more frightening than sitting in the death seat of a car with your child behind the wheel.
But she views me as very straightforward, issuing instructions in measured tones and never raising my voice.
Calm on the outside.
Inside, however, my stomach lining is rapidly being eaten away.
I should get an Academy Award.
Crossposted at Mid-Century Modern Moms