Yesterday my daughter handed me a permission form to sign so she could go on a field trip with her class.

 
I got out my feather, dipped it in the ink pot and started to do what I always do. I was going to sign my name beside the blank space “Please let us know if you would like to volunteer on our trip” when my daughter grabbed the pointiest part of the quill. And that’s when the ink hit the fan.

 
We stopped and looked at each other and she said, “Mom, can you just not come on this trip? Just this one?”

 
She must be kidding. The kids love me! I can bring a bagged lunch and eat things out of tiny zip-lock containers and bake bread with the Pioneers and ask hilarious questions to the dinosaur expert at the museum and….

 
“Mom, can you just let someone else have a turn? You come on every single field trip.”

Gulp.

 
And then I took the high road.

 
Oh, I’m the uncool one with the Mom jeans and dandruff?

 
What are Uggs anyway? Ever heard of sneakers?

 
Do you know what isn’t a word? Ridick. That’s right. The word is “ridiculous.” Also, cray-cray is not a word either. It’s the beginning of crazy—twice. That makes you twice crazed.

 
Oh and also, when you were five, you used to watch the Backyardigans and there was a song that you used to sing, “I am the customer and the customer always drives” but the real lyrics are, I am the customer and the customer’s always right.

I am not bitter.