Good job, Dad

And so we officially launch into the stories ...

I had some problems with my Miata recently. Not the car itself, so much, as the tire went flat (punctured), and the not-quite-a-year-old battery died (mostly from a combination of a lack of driving it and Michael leaving the door slightly open). But I got a new battery, and got a new tire.

So yesterday I'm replacing the mini-spare with the new tire, and Michael is sitting out in the garage with me while I'm doing it. He did a very good job of following the directions I was giving him to keep him in safe areas, just in case the jack slipped or something. One of the lug nuts made a noise when I cranked it, and he laughed and was a little disappointed when the next one came off quietly. The whole process took, I don't know ... 15 minutes, maybe.

So when I'm all done, and I've got the car back on the ground, and I tell him I'm done and all we have left to do is put the tools away, he says "Good job fixing the car all by yourself, Dad." I'm sure he doesn't realize just how rare it is that I would fix anything on the car (replacing flat tires is very nearly the most complicated thing I would attempt).

I'm amazed, though, at how much I appreciate his affirmation.