Here’s what I mean: Few things torque a tall teenage boy more than having to slide his long legs into a cramped front seat of a car.
Or so it seemed when my son, all 6’1” of him, stuffed himself into the driver’s seat of my car.
“This is crazy. Who can get into this?” he asked as he shoved the seat to its far limit.
Moms need smart remarks in these instances. When the kid towers over you, outweighs you, and knows more cool technical terms than you do, snappy remarks are important in the arsenal.
So I fired a smart remark back. “Well, it is not my fault you have such long legs.”
I settled into the passenger seat feeling certain that he’d settle into his seat with his hands on the wheel and his mouth shut.
Then we stared at each other.
My husband is two inches taller than I am, but my legs are two inches longer than his. I stand 5’9” – fairly tall for a mom.
“Um, maybe it is your fault,” my son said.
Yeah, maybe it is.
Looks like I need a snappier comeback.