It just occurred to me at around midnight last night that I have to teach three kids how to drive.
This realization is coming a bit late. After all, I've already taught one. But the next one is now on the horizon and I had a wide-eyed "oh shit" moment as I was trying to go to sleep last night when I realized that, once again, I would be gripping the handle on the ceiling of the passenger side of my car as I taught a kid how to park within the lines without hitting a tree.
Actually, what Haley (my oldest) says I do is start backing away from the door of the car - as if those extra three inches are going to save my life in a teenager-induced crash.
The problem is that I'm a pretty bad passenger in general now; after 10 years of being the only driver in the family (and one year of surviving being the parent of a teenage driver), I'm just not comfortable in the passenger seat anymore. People either go too slow, too fast, come too close to the car next to them, or change lanes in a way that I don't find acceptable.
I don't care if you're a seasoned driver or just got your license - if I'm in the car with you, I'm probably thinking you shouldn't be on the road.
Anyway, I mentioned my epiphany to my son this morning as I was driving him to school.
"I just realized that I have to be the one to teach all of you guys how to drive," I said.
I got the grunt that has been his standard answer to everything since he turned 14.
"I don't know why I didn't realize it before," I said. "But it's kind of like right after your dad died and I realized that I was the one who was going to have to potty train Sarah all by myself. It's a lot of pressure."
Yes, making sure that your child can successfully use the toilet and/or drive him or herself the two miles to school and back by the time you unleash them on the world is a lot.
But that's widowhood for you.
~
I was watching an interview on the TODAY Show with Michelle Obama when they asked what she was up to.
"Well, getting my youngest ready for college," she said. "Senior year is intense."
PREACH.
Why didn't anyone tell me this before? Just as I was getting used the fact that my oldest was pretty independent and I wasn't needed quite as much, her senior year in high school hit and I'm busier than when she was a baby and I had to be up every two hours with her.
Essays, applications, financial aid, and all those damn forms for graduation. And then there's the "last everything" - the last varsity game she's involved in, the last concert, the last time she'll take a science class she'll never use.
And the emotional fluctuation! Just as I've made peace with the fact that her leaving the nest is a natural thing, she's in my room crying because she just realized that she only has 105 choir concerts left of high school (all of which you somehow need to find time to attend AND create some sort of video montage of your kid, complete with heart-wrenching note about how much they've grown, how well they drive and how well they use the potty).
I'm actually not entirely sure how my other two kids are doing because I'm so focused on launching the oldest one. I'm assuming they're making it to school. I think their grades are okay, but I can't figure out how to log into that online parent thingy (I miss paper report cards). The only reason I know they're still around is because I occasionally take meaningful pictures of them, now knowing that in just a few years I will need to create an Oscar-worthy documentary about their lives for the last day of whatever after school activity they're in...otherwise we will be shamed by the other families.
It's exhausting.
Every week I wonder how we can logistically make everything happen. And apparently every week I hold out hope that the next week will be calmer.
"This week is a little crazy," I said to my mom recently. "But I think next week will be better."
"You say that every week," she finally pointed out six weeks into the school year and on my third day without a shower.
I'm trying to live in the moment. I know that I'm going to blink and the house will be empty and quiet. The car will wonder why it's not going back and forth to the school 20 times a day, even though I only have three kids. The kitchen table will sit there, quietly reminding me of family dinners. No one will come into my bedroom at 11:00 at night in tears because they forgot to start that 50 page essay that's due first period the next day. No more potty training. No more drivers ed.
Yes. Someday I'll just sit in a hot bath because three people didn't shower before I started the water and realized there wasn't a drop of warm water left, a wine glass in my hand, book resting on the side of the tub, thinking about all of the years before when that was impossible because someone needs something right now.
Wait. That actually sounds pretty good.
