Little pitchers and all that...

No.  This isn't an entry about signing Emma and Chloe up for spring tee ball and Logan for his first season of pitch baseball.  Although I did just do that.

Perhaps I should have titled this "I have a horn and I'm not afraid to toot it."

Or perhaps I'm delirious and need to get up from this keyboard right this minute and go to bed.

Anyhow.  The point.

This afternoon, after picking Logan up from school, we were sitting at an intersection waiting for the light to turn green.  Being a five-year-old boy, Logan has been asking lots of questions about the rules of the road and such.  Being a thirty-something momma, I have been trying to contain my contempt for stupid drivers (and stupid people in general) by not saying everything that pops into my head when I've been cut off, etc.

I'm not always successful.

So we're sitting at this intersection and the light turns green.  The women on the opposite side of the street decides that she doesn't have to wait for the right-of-way and turns right in front of us.

I, of course, lay on the horn.

(When faced with that particular stupid driver situation, my mother's intuition told me that, with three small children in the car, that was my best course of action.)

We make it about fifteen feet past the intersection when my son, with extreme seriousness, relates this dilemma:

"Momma when I am driving and somebody does something wrong, I don't know whether to say 'Why don't you just run me off the road!' or whether to beep the horn.  How do I know what to do?"

All I could say was, "Honey, you just know."

Then I told him about right-of-ways and he told me about wrong-of-ways.