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I pulled up to get Parker from basketball practice, rushing as usual with my mind somewhere else.
As he headed toward the car, he tilted his head and gave me a funny look.
Only then did I remember...he wanted to drive!
I hopped out and he hopped in...banging his knees on the scooted up seat and exclaiming about how tiny I am because I have to have the rearview mirror pointing so far down.
And since that day, several weeks ago, it has been the same routine every evening.
I wait for him in the parking lot, and when I see him coming, I scoot the seat back as far as it goes and then walk around to the passenger seat.  He gets in, pulls the steering wheel down and adjusts the mirror up...turns NPR off and LeCrae on...we buckle up...and off we go.
I try to relax as he waits for traffic to break enough for him to make a left-hand turn, and he says things like "The other day I was driving and this song was on and it made me feel bad."  To which I reply, "Why did it make you feel bad?"  And he gives me a look and says, "No...bad.  You know, cool."
I totally would've gotten that if I hadn't been distracted by the semi flying toward my door.
But we make it safely home to cook dinner and do homework and watch tv.
And the next morning when I get in the car to go to work, I scoot the seat back up, adjust the mirrors, switch the music back...and smile.