(From 2007 musings)
My teenagers are wearing a hole in me. Thank goodness I have only two. My 17-year-old, bless his heart, has decided to wait on getting that coveted driver’s license. Why? California threw us a curve and the law says basically that we must spend $300 for 6 hours behind the wheel training and a piece of paper signed by someone who probably has several DUIs. And the law probably reads: And all insurance companies must double their rates on all families insuring any persons they have raised to be responsible, trust completely with their lives and he lived of their younger siblings and would not be nerdy enough to street race in their mom’s STATION WAGON.
My 13-year-old, who was always my clingy baby, has a social life. It involves dancing, dressing cool and a little bit of make up. She cannot, I repeat, CANNOT miss a school dance. She and her friends try to wear heels to the dances. They stomp across the parking lot moving like the stringed puppets from the old Saturday morning TV show “Stingray.”
Well, with their schedules and only one driver, I need three of me…one for each child and one for myself. We live 20+ miles from their school. Every day is a road trip. Heaven help me when they have sports practices, drama meetings, ASB gatherings and don’t forget Senior Coffeehouse. That is when the seniors and staff get together and “kick it” because after graduation, they are all going their separate ways on to separate lives. We joined a church that we visited for years. It is located 10 miles further away than the school. Now, mix in Easter and Christmas play practices, choir and youth night meetings on top of the school schedule and you have a 50-plus-year-old woman who lives in her new 2007 car that now has 31,000 miles on it.
How do I keep going?
I’m running on love.
Even though it is an extreme amount of running, I wouldn’t change anything (except maybe my address if given the chance). I love being their parent, their mom. And do you know what? They are only children for a little while. So, with God’s help, I’ll run until they are able to do it for themselves. It won’t be long.
(2015–the son is married with a family of his own; the daughter is about to start her last year at the university; I still have the car, 130,000 miles on it.)