Pulled the Wonder Twins to daycare this morning in their Chariot. Not a single complaint: no "stop poking me!"; no "I can't see!" (meaning that someone's helmet has slipped down); no "give me back my Thomas!" (meaning that my daughter has snatched her brother's beloved train). Nope, just contented chatting and the occasional "garbage truck!" or "tractor!"

Passing through Midtown we overtook a twenty-something young woman on a Cannondale that looked to be as old as she. Stylishly dressed for the fall in a wool skirt and boots, but alas she had no helmet to complete her ensemble.

The only bad part of the ride was when I (stupidly) decided to avoid a busy intersection by cutting through a parking lot. A middle aged woman in a crappy Suzuki Sidekick was racing through the entry lane, probably going 25 or 30. I locked up the brakes and actually got turned a little sideways but kept it upright. I gave her the WTF look and actually only mouthed the F part, which took a lot of restraint on my part since I had the kids with me. And then, she has the nerve to roll down the window and yell, "Hey! You got a problem?"

"Yes, as matter of fact I do have a problem with you driving 25 miles an hour in a parking lot."

(And then I nearly started laughing when I heard my 2 and a half year old Greek chorus repeat "parking lot!")

Now, I should know better than to go through parking lots, especially when I'm pulling the Chariot. And now I really know. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.