Ben just got his learner's permit. To drive a car. I hyperventilate occasionally about this.
He drove home from the drivers' license division, pleased as could be, but slightly surprised that I would let him. It took a long time to get home because: 1. I had him take all the teeny, tiny backstreets, and 2. he actually drives the spreed limit. On the dot. (Good for you, Ben!)
He had a birthday party to go to tonight, and really, really, really can I please Mom with a so sweet smile on my face badly wanted to drive there. Yes, of course. You need to practice a lot. A lot. Grab the Angel and put her in her carseat while I grab my wallet. OK, so it took me 30 anxious, dancing around, can we please leave now minutes to get things settled in the house so I could leave. Moms are like that, wanting to take care of everyone.
When I finally got out to the running and warmed-up van, I climbed into the passenger's seat and buckled up. Ben was shaking his head. He told me this story:
When he had buckled Angel in, he told he that we were going for a drive to take big brother to a party. She was happy to go. She loves going out. But when Ben slid into the driver's seat, she started to laugh. Hard. Ben told me she could barely get the words out, "Silly, Ben! You can't drive!" And then she laughed some more.
Ben shook his head again. "I think I'm angry," he said with a smile. "No, indignant. Indignant is the right word." Good thing he loves his little sister to pieces.
(By the way, Angel, I know how you feel.)