It's An Adventure Daughter Diana and I are to meet for our weekly jaunt to the gym. Lest you worry needlessly, let me hasten to assure you that I am not having a love affair with treadmills and belly crunches. But, I am crazy about her. Having spent a restless night, tossing and turning, I don my baggy sweats and frumpy top and set my face like a flint toward the gym. I don't really want to be there, but I promised. When our agreed upon time came and went, I began to taste reprieve. I leave two voice messages for her, sorta' hoping she won't get them in time. Then I can say with a heart of integrity, "Well, Honey, I TRIED to call but you weren't home." One more minute, I tell myself, then I'm outta here. She's always had a knack for timing. Key in the ignition, and foot on the pedal I'm ready to go when the cell phone rings, "Oh, Mom, I forgot." I was so close. With a sigh and an extension of grace, I agree to our amended plans, "Why don't you pick me up at home, and we'll go for a walk at the park?" That's preferable to the gym . . . how hard can a walk be? So as not to be overly encumbered, I'd stored my bulky purse in the trunk upon departing from home. Once at the park, I tuck the keys out of sight in the panel on the door. It's a fool-proof plan. Now I'm free of purse and keys! "Don't hit the lock," I say to my darling daughter, as she pushes the button and we simultaneously shut the doors. Uh, huh. You are so quick. The shock wears off in a matter of seconds as our predicament becomes clear. No purse - no keys - no drive. "Well, we'll just have to walk to my house," she says. It's not exactly a skip and a jump, or a simple spit across the Holler. Off we go, out the park and across the busy street. The fact that I bounce like jello with every step I trod tickles my funny bone. I giggle. She does not. As traffic bears down on us she calls back over her shoulder, "You're going to get run over, Mom, if you don't walk faster than that." Like I'm not trying to hurry . . . Down the street, and up the hill we go. Thank goodness she has a hidden key at her house. Being the limber one, she climbs the fence, reaches into the secret hiding place, fishing for the "just in case we get locked out key." It isn't there. She's so much like her momma. Her other set is inside her purse, sitting next to mine, in the locked trunk. The house windows are all closed, and "No, Mom, I didn't leave the door unlocked." We spend too long trying to find a way in. She bends the screen while attempting to take it off the back window. I'm just standing around, looking pretty, trying to offer moral support and wondering how we're going to get out of this one. The 80-degree October weather is sweltering. I don't know what makes me do it, but I reach up, give that patio door a push and voila it slides wide open. While she insists it was locked, we walk into the coolness of her welcoming kitchen. Diana has studying to do and since her schedule is full, I offer to drive her car to the dealership to get an extra set of keys from Rob. "Why CAN'T I?" (I am NOT whining) For some reason she is reluctant to hand over the keys. I don't know why - other people drive without their glasses (on the dash in my car), or their driver's license (in my purse in the trunk). "Look, I haven't had a ticket in years.  I can see up close.  It'll be alright." But, noooooo. "I'll take you, Mom." Her sanctification has been stretched to the limit. I hate to be the one to throw the match on her combustible impatience, but this is a battle I simply must win. I'm not strutting into a million dollar dealership in smelly sweats and a frumpy t-shirt. "Diana, I am NOT going in there looking like this." She ponders my dilemma, then walks to the closet, and pulls out a long, black dress. "Put this on!" I twist and tug and pull, stuffing my bulging body into the garment - a remarkable feat considering I'm a 16W and she's an 8P. My red shirt adds contrast and cover.  I smile when she says, "You look darling, Mom." You betcha. My Chevy tennies are replaced with her more stunning ones, and we're off. On the way I quip, "Look at it this way, honey, it's an adventure." To which she replies, "I hate it when you say that." Well, I never! Mark my word, one day those very words will slip past her lips, and with a gasp she'll say, "Remember when . . ." Sure enough - Rob has a customer at his desk. Thankfully, hubby is nowhere to be seen. Red-faced I smile hoping he won't know who I am, grab the key from a prearranged location, and make it back out the door in record time. We drive back to the locked car still sitting at the park. I unlock the door, hand Diana her things and try to impress her with my busyness. All I can think of is a cold drink of water and a nap to soothe my teetering exhaustion. But, noooo, now she's into this "adventure" thing. So, while I drag to the bathroom to change out of my stunning outfit, she's off to run for a mile in the heat, before escorting me around the path on my mile-long walk. Adventure my foot. Whose stupid idea was that? Copyright © 2001 Ronda Knuth Ben and the Wright Brothers