The Kid recently received her driver’s permit. Actually, she got it exactly 14 days, 12 hours, 27 minutes and 32 seconds ago. But who’s counting. Besides the fact that I am completely freaked out that she is 16 already, I am completely freaked out that she is driving. And I am really completely freaked out that she is driving and that I am in the car.
DH took her out first. To the parking lot of the local movie theater. It’s the perfect place — large, open and empty. The operative words being large, open and empty. I was kind of bummed that I wasn’t there for her first time behind the wheel. But then I had an opportunity to take her myself. I promise you, it was a treat.
After doing the parking lot a few times, she said to me, “mom, I think I’m ready for the roads. You know, the real roads.” Yes. She claimed she was ready for the real roads. The real roads with stop signs, yellow lines, curbs, people and cars. And because I can be easily persuaded and she’s got the gift of negotiation, I caved and took her driving on the real roads.
Besides the fact that she got honked at, drove (just a little) onto someone’s front lawn, barely missed about 12 mailboxes, had a bit of pedal confusion issues (no, honey, that pedal on the right is not the blinker), stopped so hard at stop signs that I have whiplash, nearly drove through our garage door, gave me about 50 more unwanted gray hairs and knuckles that have taken on a permanent white hue, all is fine.
After much thought (2.3 milliseconds), I have decided that this is a job for DH. And I am not to take her out again until I feel confident enough to be able to close my eyes. Because that’s how I shall only be the passenger in a car that is being manned by The Kid for a while. With my eyes closed. I will keep you posted. That is, if I’m alive.