BC, my 6.5 year old wonder and recent beneficiary of the tooth fairy, makes me cry. Regularly. Today, we were driving to the craft store and the supermarket. It was a gorgeous day – we coasted down Route 50, singing and laughing.

BC: Mama, I want a Cadillac.

Me: : What, honey?

BC: : Oh, I mean, I want a convertible.

Me: Uh, oh yeah, they can be fun. But you know, I don’t know whether they leak, or whether they are hard to open and close…[realizing I have turned into the human killjoy, I relent.] Well, then, maybe they’ve improved convertibles since I was young.

BC: ::Thinking for a minute:: You know, mama, I’m going to get a convertible.

Me: When you are old enough to buy your own car, you can buy whatever car you’d like, honey.

BC: When I buy my convertible, you can ride in it.

Me: Thanks, honey.

BC: Mama?

Me: Yes?

BC: Don’t ever get really old.

Me: I’ll do my best. Why honey?

BC: Then we won’t be able to get your wheelchair in the car.

Me: ::Trying not to crash the car while my eyes are tearing up::

I really need to grow thicker skin. I’m not going to make it to 45 at this rate without dissolving into a puddle.