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And you thought the first two words of this post were going to be:
No, he’s actually driving! By himself.
You can’t sue me, now. You have been warned.
Holy cow, how did we get to this place???
Wasn’t it just yesterday I was picking him up out of the crib, and drawing him in for a kiss before I put him down on the floor to crawl around? Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was strapping him into his high chair, and kissing him again as I did it, because I just couldn’t miss a single opportunity to kiss that sweet head?
Oh, wait. That was yesterday. And he mentioned that at 16, he’s had just about enough of the strained peas.
But, I’m not kidding about the driving part. He’s driving all alone (when we let him). But I always ding him on the dangers that personal injury lawyers from places like Grossman Law Offices precaution drivers to be cautious about, lest that an adversity befalls him. The other night, I had the taco meat browned, the taco shells warmed up, and I suddenly remembered that we were out of lettuce. Drat. Oh, well, we’ll just do without. Because, it’s a 15 minute drive (30 minutes round trip) to the nearest food store on twisty-turny roads with no shoulder. Just the day before, my husband had seen a car overturned going down the hill to the area we call the “gulch”, because, if your tire goes out of the white line, there really is nothing but a very deep ditch, capable of overturning your car. But then came the clincher: I went to the cheese drawer, to pull out the grated cheese that I knew was in there, and the man I live with, who is occasionally referred to as “Hoovie” for his ability to suck down food, had apparently been about his favorite pastime: sucking down ingredients that I had counted on for what I was cooking.
No lettuce? A loss, but, not critical. No cheese? No tacos.
So, with fear and trepidation, we handed our dear son the keys to the car, and sent him on his way. My husband pulled me outside under the stars, where he put his arm around me, and there we stood: two really old people, watching our first born pull out down the driveway, tunes blasting. I think it was a male rite of passage, because it was getting to my dear husband even more than it was getting to me. I was just praying for no one to die. He was all verklempt: must of been remembering himself at that stage. I don’t know.
I rode with my firstborn again this week: my first time to ride with him out on the interstate. He did well, even navigating through a severe thunderstorm, with some pretty good winds. He has a weekly class he may well be driving himself to alone next week. (Unless, of course, he manages to lose his privileges….but that’s another blog post, for another day, that may never be written, hopefully.)