Flying to Austin (check that, Lago Vista) for Christmas was exhausting. Note to self: pay for the extra seat. It’s well worth it. The Texas Tornado we shared on the flight there was a category 5. The one on the return flight, a category 5. Brutal. Who would have thought that the small jets, with one seat on one side and two on the other, would actually be preferable. It was. More space to wrestle, fewer people to annoy… Regardless, buy the seat for the kid. Our fellow passengers were not amused. Can’t say we were either for that matter.
Driving along, singing my song… or maybe not.
Last week, I was driving home after picking up Kate from school. Without a second thought, I started singing along with my bff Gwen. Whatever. Rockin’ out, I glance back to check on Kate, see if she’s going to sing along or even just dance a little with me.
“No singing, Mommy,” she says.
I laugh and don’t think twice about continuing along with my poor excuse for singing. Granted I have a cold, and I don’t sound great normally, but c’mon. Surely she didn’t mean it…
“Mommy! No singing!” What the hell!? I thought the car was the one place, the very last, one place where you could sing without ridicule, sing at the top of your lungs, sing like no one was listening.
Apparently, she is. And she doesn’t like what she hears… Ah well. Maybe another day.