Apparently, You Have Better Things To Do

Dear Laney,

Your dad and I have spent the better part of this weekend remodeling the closet in our bedroom. We're putting in real walls and a real floor, and painting all of our shelving before we re-install it.

At first, you were a big fan of this home improvement project, and you enjoyed being your dad's assistant.

But then - like your mother - you realized that DIY projects are always a lot more fun in theory than in practice and you were ready to move on to something more fun.

I should point out that most of this Saturday, the temperature here at our house was a balmy 48 degrees. I wore a thermal shirt, a sweatshirt, long pants, expedition socks and boots. Your dad did not. Because of the cold, you and I spent a lot of time playing in the living room. I thought we were having a heckuva time, until you grabbed the car keys and said, "Eese."

"Yes, those are the car keys. What do you need those for?"

You walked to the back door, knocked on it, and said "Out!"

I wonder sometimes if you think I'm a total monkey, and I can only absorb one-syllable directives. I would hate to think that you're toddling around, thinking of your mother as the weakest link.

Anyway, I opened the door and let you outside, where you ran to the side of the truck and said "Ruck!" Thinking that you just wanted to stand in the driver's seat and pretend to steer, I hoisted you up into the seat. But no - you climbed over into your car seat and started trying to buckle yourself in. You motioned for me to get behind the wheel. Playing along, I asked, "Where we goin' today, Miss Daisy?"

'Cool.

You want to go to school?

Yah.

There isn't any school today, sweet girl. It's the weekend.

blank stare, indicating that I am a dream killer.

On one hand, I'm glad that I'm paying for you to spend your mornings at a place you really like. On the other hand, you'd rather go there than hang out with your dad and me, and that's not 'cool at all. Or can I come, too?

Love,

Mom