Front Seat Driver

After months and months of pleading to ride in the front seat of the car, Julianna has worn us down. She’s 10. And, I remember standing (asleep) in the wheel well of a VW Bug at 3. So, who am I to point fingers? (Except, you know, the Highway Transportation Safety Board.)

So finally…

Me: Julianna (again, she’s 10), I need you to go with me to get Isabella from Gymnastics so I can use the carpool lane.

Julianna: I don’t want to! (a defense also known as: What’s in it for me?)

Mommy and Daddy share a look.

Mommy: You can ride in the front seat.

I Googled the law. She’s 10. Tall enough. Heavy enough. Shit.

Me: Ok.

She climbs into the front seat even before I’ve put on my pants. (Editor’s note: My “lounging at home” pants are different from my “seeing other gymnastics parents” pants.)

Julianna, in the front seat for the first time. On the highway!

J: Daddy! This is Awesome!

She can’t stop giggling.

J: Everything is closer! Everything moves faster!

Me: Well, no, not really, Honey…

J: Whoa! Our car just went past that tree! Superfast! And we can see soooo much farther. To the Horizon!

Me: Like we always do.

J: Yeah, but, Daddy. It’s different for those of us in the back.

(I can’t tell you how much I appreciate her grammatically put-down of me.)

J: But, there’s the radio and the mirror and and the sun blocker thingy!

Me: Yes.

J: And, the Best Part of All?

Me: What, Honey?

J: We’ll get there BEFORE the back seat!

Me: Technically yeah, but… Never mind… YAY! Before the Back Seat! LOSERS!

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