Not It

I'm saying it now, in case I forget in 13.5 years, I am NOT going to teach Leah how to drive.

Uh-uh. No way.

Hubby convinced me I was not going to risk hypothermia by going outside with the kids after dinner tonight, even though that 4-letter "S" word is in the forecast for Friday (Really, Rick, how could you?!).

Anyhoo.

Nathaniel decided to play (de)"livery" with the gator and drive around with random boxes of outside toys in the back. Leah was dutifully riding in the passenger seat. She'd hop out when he hopped out, follow the box, then hop back in with her big brother to a few more donuts in the yard.

On the third delivery, Leah slid over to the driver's seat. I didn't flinch. She is allowed to drive the little tractor, but really "drive" is being generous. I crank the steering wheel so she goes in a circle in the driveway until she gets dizzy or the battery wears out. She doesn't know how to steer on her own. And she knows it.

Or I thought she did.

While Hubby and I stood in the garage accepting a valuable delivery of 2 sand buckets, old pool toys and gosh-only-knows what else, my darling princess locked eyes with me.

"Leah, move over. You're not driving."

Hubby chuckled. Big mistake. Chuckling at a 2-year-old is like double-dog-daring her to do whatever it is she's thinking of doing. You don't wave a red flag in front of a bull.

Leah laughed and floored the gator across the driveway toward a number of hazards, including the lamp post, a huge landscaping rock, the well head, several pieces of landscape edger and the ends and beginnings of the train wreck that is my flower beds.

While Nathaniel and I hollered, Hubby took off running (still in work clothes) after her. Without actually steering the gator, she managed to miss all of the things she could have hit by taking it across the driveway and onto the walkway that leads to the front porch. Luckily, then Hubby caught up.

And she laughed some more.

I am so not it.