It's like a freight train barreling down the tracks straight at me. I'm on the tracks, going through my day-to-day routine, when all of a sudden I hear the train whistle screaming at me and I'm thinking, CRAP! When did this happen? Why didn't anybody warn me?
DD is taking her drivers test this afternoon. She's (mostly) a responsible kid. Gets good grades, has never been in jail, showers daily--the stuff you hope your kids aspire to. But this driving thing. Shit! I am NOT ready for this. How did it sneak up on me so quickly? Five minutes ago she was a toddler, picking her nose and refusing to eat anything but chicken fingers and Kraft mac and cheese. She has since broadened her culinary horizons and the nose thing is pretty much under control. But driving? Seriously? I'm not taking this well, and I don't have the appropriate pharmaceuticals to handle the situation.
If she passes the test, I'll spend the rest of my life worrying every time she gets behind the wheel. If she doesn't pass, the resulting drama and trauma will make 90210 look like Sesame Street. (I have no idea where she gets her penchant for the dramatic, by the way.) Whatever happens, I'm screwed. And my last baby is on her way to adulthood.
I've made progress on Tilly's sweater:
I'm going to the fabric store today to pick out the most girly-girly buttons I can find. This color way has a lot of pink in it, but I want this sweater to scream GIRL CHILD! Yes, this is foolish, considering the fact that when DD was little, I talked trash about Barbie so badly I'm surprised she didn't sashay her big fake plastic boobs into her Barbie motor home and ram my skull in my sleep. But you do things differently with grandchildren. They call it Learning From Your Mistakes. Let's hope I do.