Driving Miss Bunny

BC, my 6.5 year old wonder and recent beneficiary of the tooth fairy, makes me cry. Regularly. Today, we were driving to the craft store and the supermarket. It was a gorgeous day – we coasted down Route 50, singing and laughing.

BC: Mama, I want a Cadillac.

Me: : What, honey?

BC: : Oh, I mean, I want a convertible.

Me: Uh, oh yeah, they can be fun. But you know, I don’t know whether they leak, or whether they are hard to open and close…[realizing I have turned into the human killjoy, I relent.] Well, then, maybe they’ve improved convertibles since I was young.

BC: ::Thinking for a minute:: You know, mama, I’m going to get a convertible.

Me: When you are old enough to buy your own car, you can buy whatever car you’d like, honey.

BC: When I buy my convertible, you can ride in it.

Me: Thanks, honey.

BC: Mama?

Me: Yes?

BC: Don’t ever get really old.

Me: I’ll do my best. Why honey?

BC: Then we won’t be able to get your wheelchair in the car.

Me: ::Trying not to crash the car while my eyes are tearing up::

I really need to grow thicker skin. I’m not going to make it to 45 at this rate without dissolving into a puddle.


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