Step One: I took The Daughters and my own momma to a truck stop to eat since Brian had poker night at our house. Daughter 1 said she didn't care where we went. Then she half-snorted and rolled her eyes. Daughter 2 said she only wanted to go to the Italian place, which, oddly enough, didn't appeal to me at all. So, my own momma suggested a road trip a little ways up north to the truck stop just south of the state line. (My friend Denise can tell you all about the hazards of truck stops, the least of which are their cafes.)
Step Two: I refereed no less than forty-six dozen fights on the twenty-minute drive north. I refereed twenty-seven fights after we were seated in the crowded dining area but before we got our drinks. I actually felt a blood vessel burst in my brain.
Step Three: Finally, to catch a moment of peace, I handed Daughter 2 my phone to keep her entertained while I meditated on the journey that awaits us as Daughter 1 wildly approaches the teen years. Good thing she was practicing her snarls, glares and eye-rolling-slash-deep-sighing. (Did you hear the sarcasm dripping from those words?)
Step Four: Eventually, I found myself in stunned silence (along with the rest of the patrons), my mouth agape and my eyes bulging, as Daughter 2, who had found my blog online announced in her best cheerleader-turned-dramatic-lead voice, "Oh. My. Gawd, Momma! You're a pole dancer now?"
I was finally able to close my mouth when the little girl six booths away said, "What's pole dancing?"
It was at that point, that Daughter 1 broke the cardinal rule of attitudinal teens everywhere and broke the silence of the stunned eatery when she laughed a hearty laugh.
We got our food in less than five minutes.
