Still in the Driver's Seat, For Now

Yes. I'm still driving him. And I'm done being apologetic about it.

Yes. He's had his driver's license for over 5 months and could probably drive himself the 25 miles to classes on the 3 days he attends. But, he doesn't. I do.

At the beginning of the semester, it was my intention to do the driving for a couple of days then have him drive with me in the car to make sure he knew the way. Oh I had my reasons: it was rush hour, after all. Bumper to bumper on 2 congested highways, not a quick trip to the local high school. He, like his older brother and unlike his sister and me, doesn't really like to drive. He's not a freaking control freak and is quite fine sitting in that passenger seat. I am a freaking control freak and never like sitting in the passenger seat. Ever. I especially hate it when one of my kids is at the wheel. I gotta admit that I didn't really take that last point into consideration when plotting out my original plan.

It just became a habit: I would drop him off and either head back home to the gym and the treadmill or to a cafe to write. He never insisted on driving; I never insisted he drive. Friends started asking, "Why doesn't he drive himself?" and I started making excuses. "He's not comfortable with the route" turned into "We're down a car and I've got stuff to do" turned into "It's so snowy and icy and oh those crazy drivers out there."

And now, damn it, I like it. We listen to Morning Edition on the drive in and Radio Boston on the way home. We groan in harmony when Sarah Palin's name is mentioned and debate economic and racial segregation in the neighborhoods of Boston. I hear about the Ugandan boy in his anthropology class who is estranged from his family and holding down a full time job and the man, who apparently is even older than me, that sits behind him in his world history class. I can get away with comments like, You know, when you're away at school next year, you'll have to be responsible about eating right/getting enough sleep/keeping your side of the room clean/insert another annoying momism here and he can't run away because he's stuck in the car laughing at me.

This is the third kid of mine to go away to school; when Fall rolls around I don't want to wish I had spent more time with him when I could have. So I complain about having to get up early and worry about being pulled over by the cops when I'm in sweats and no makeup and lament how much time out of my day all this driving is taking while in private I'm enjoying the hell out of it. There's only a month left. It's not nearly enough time.

Live Free or Die

I was tooling down Daniel Webster Highway in Nashua stopping in at this store or that because that's what you do when you're in Nashua. My Ford Escape hybrid has Massachusetts license plates, and it is adorned with bumper stickers of various Democratic candidates, from our state senator to our governor to our president. This is something I rarely think about; it just is.

I was in the right lane; the driver's side window was down because it was warm and sunny. Furious beeping started and I looked around to see what was going on. A red pickup truck zoomed past me; the driver was simultaneously leaning on his horn and giving me a determined thumbs down.

It took me a minute: My bumper stickers. I've never had that happen to me before. You have to be pretty pissed off to go out of your way to honk your horn repeatedly and gesture out the window while traveling at 40 miles per hour or so.

It makes me determined to get even more stickers in the next election cycle and travel to Nashua more often.

Learners Permit

You'd think it would get easier with the third kid, but it doesn't.

I've learned a lot (mostly through mistakes) in my attempts to raise 3 healthy, happy, eventually independent children. With the oldest, I breast fed for 12 months, carried around a food mill to grind carrots for baby food, had plug protectors and toilet seat locks, rocked him to sleep every night, limited TV watching to Sesame Street only. With child number two, I breast fed for 6 months, tried to remember to pack the Gerbers, yelled “stay away from the outlets” when she became interested, gave her a pacifier at night and allowed the Disney Channel. By the time child number three rolled around, reality ruled. He had a bottle at 3 months and was lucky I remembered to feed him at all. I made sure the toilet bowl was clean before he splashed in it. A gate was put on his bedroom door so that if he didn't go to sleep right away at least he stayed in his room. “Thomas the Tank Engine” was on non-stop.

But sitting in the passenger seat while your kid drives with a Learners Permit doesn't get easier with the third one; it is still Ultimate Torture. My foot constantly slams on the imaginary brake pedal. I dig my fingers into the seat each time he makes a left turn. I scream “mailbox mailbox mailbox” as he hugs the side of the winding country road. Just like I did with the first two kids. When I take a step back and think about Third's driving, it is actually quite good. Earlier this week, he merged onto a highway, changed lanes, make a difficult left turn and negotiated a traffic-packed rotary. Quite confidently, at that. And despite the fact that his lunatic mother was hyperventilating in the passenger seat.

His older siblings warned him: Don't drive with mom. She'll make you crazy. Dad's better at this. The reality of the situation is that mom's schedule has more flexibility than dad's and the only way to learn how to drive is to do it.

We go out on the road again today. My martini better be ready upon my return.