Teaching My Teenager How to Drive (Or, Rather, How She Taught Me to Teach Her)

My daughter is 17. Practically a Straight-A Student. Senior in high school. Tall, slender, beautiful, natural blond. You hate her already, dontcha?

And for the past 8 months, she’s had her Driver’s Permit. She’s driven side roads, main roads, and freeways… just not in my car. Just not with me.

Her grandparents take her out driving once or twice a week. Her very first behind-the-wheel excursion was taking Grandpa’s truck through the dry river bed. Talk about fun! She’s been hooked on the beauty of trucks ever since.

They tell me she’s a good driver. They tell me she … read the rest. . .

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17 Years and Counting…

Every year on this date, I always say the same thing. “X-amount of years ago, I was thiiiis big….” and my hands extend my imaginary belly. Then I go on to tell the story that embarrasses my Dot. I think it’s every mom’s duty to share the story of childbirth with their children. Loudly. In front of their friends.

But this year, I won’t. This year, I will say only that I was once “thiiiis big”. And maybe throughout the day remind her of the pain she kept me in for six and half hours. I won’t say a word … read the rest. . .

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It’s Friday and I’m Not Going to My Mom’s House For Lunch (Or… What Goes Around, Comes Around)

by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy

My mom and I and Dot are all pretty close. Three generations of women living in close proximity (don’t forget the five female felines!). Mom lives alone, just down the street, but we’re at each other’s house often enough. We talk every day, often. Our houses even have the same floor plan, but reversed. (That explains why we zig when we think we should zag.)

It’s pretty hilarious when I call my mom and we both have the same topics in our heads. We both want to make mac-n-cheese on Saturday. We both watch the … read the rest. . .

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