“I don’t need help taking you to school. We’re already in the car.”
At the time, I thought I was teaching my daughter generosity.
Looking back, I was also teaching her that her mother didn’t know when generosity should stop.
Then Vanessa bought a new SUV.
It was huge.
White.
Perfectly spotless.
It looked more like a showroom display than something meant to carry a ten-year-old.
She proudly brought it over the afternoon she bought it.
“Look!”
She opened the driver’s door like she was unveiling a trophy.
I leaned inside.
“Vanessa, cream leather seats might be the worst decision you’ve ever made.”
She laughed.
“Why?”
“You have a ten-year-old.”
“Sophie knows better.”
From the passenger seat, Sophie rolled her eyes.
“I’m not even allowed to eat crackers in here.”
Vanessa pointed at her.
“Because crumbs get everywhere.”
Sophie leaned toward me.
“She made me take off my shoes yesterday because there was dirt on them.”
Vanessa groaned.
“It happened once.”
“They were barely dirty.”
“They were dirty enough.”
We laughed about it.
I assumed it was simply Vanessa being overly protective of her brand-new car.
