Driving Mrs. Crazy

Let me preface this post with an explanation (okay, it’s a blatant excuse) of why it has been so long since my last post. Every writer has a muse – some element on the inside that stirs thought and creativity and makes the words flow from the spirit to the page. In my case, my muse has been on strike from sheer overwork and has refused to produce for my personal blog due to the tremendous workload she carries for my normal job. I can understand that but it’s frustrating. As I write this, however, I am sitting in the Palm Beach International Airport awaiting my flight back to the real world. I am departing a weekend in Boca Raton where my muse has been wined and dined, sunned and oiled, massaged and pampered to the nth degree in our annual managers’ retreat. Now my muse is in a better mood and allowing ideas to flow again for this blog.

Transportation seems to play a big role in our family these days. Planes, trains and automobiles seem to be regular elements that touch the three of us. Hubby flies on a fairly regular basis to luxurious places like Boise and Omaha for work. I have the daily schlep to take the kid to school, run errands, etc. For our vacation in July, we tagged along with hubby to DC where we rode the subway daily.

Since September, son has added a new dimension to transportation because he received his learner’s permit. I have been surreptitiously giving him driving lessons for a couple of years on the Civic but now he is actually legal to drive so his territory for travel has expanded from the orchard and our country road to anywhere either hubby or I will let him take the wheel. The learner’s permit is one in several rites of passage ending, in my opinion, with becoming a parent several years down the road. Once you become a parent, you are truly an adult and for some mysterious reason your ability to stay up late, drink lots of alcohol, and see small print starts to disappear.

With the learner’s permit the perpetual “why?” of the three year old is now replaced with the perpetual “Can I drive?” of the fifteen year old. I have to give son credit – he’s a fairly good driver for a raw newbie. Of course, he’s never taken a driving lesson from his dad which I think has a lot to do with it. I’ve considered it MY job since fifth grade to teach this kid how to drive simply to do my level best to make sure he’s around to take care of me in my senile retirement. Allowing hubby to teach him how to drive would result in a minimum of one totaled vehicle within the first six months.

There was actually unspoken consensus that hubby would not be teaching son how to drive. Hubby has no patience and a lead foot. He also makes the monthly car payment when he pays the bills so it scrapes on his nerves when the kid gets behind the wheel of the new vehicle. He’s not worried about son’s life or the life of innocent bystanders but about whether the car will remain unscathed. Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration but it’s definitely an element of concern.

Truth be told, I’d rather ride with my son behind the wheel than my husband. Son is still petrified of screwing up or putting a scratch on the car so he is extremely careful and follows directions. He acquiesces to the rule of no radio on while driving and doesn’t say a word when I say “Watch your speed”. On the other hand, if I even glance at the speedometer when hubby is driving he gets defensive and starts telling me to chill out. Hubby drives with his knees while dialing his cell phone or eating a burrito. Son cannot even open a bottle of Mountain Dew while driving so he keeps both hands at ten and two on the wheel and only takes a sip while stopped at a red light. I feel much safer riding with son.

Maybe part of my terror of riding with my husband is simply the fact that I’m getting older. I know the older my mother became, the more tense she was riding with someone else. I find myself gripping the door handle with the same white knuckles that she did and bracing my feet against the floorboard when brake lights ahead start coming on. I’ve discovered that I look further down the road than my husband. I can see cars starting to slow down long before he does. He sees nothing wrong with slamming on the brakes and swerving to the right to avoid ramming the car stopped ahead whereas I would have been braking a half mile earlier. His logic is that he’s never hit someone in the rear yet; there’s a fault in that thinking somewhere but I’m usually in such a state of terror that I can’t think of how to counter such a stupid statement.

Mapquest has had a huge impact on our family’s transportation. Usually, if we are going somewhere new, we Mapquest our destination prior to departure. Sometimes, though, we forget to run the search and end up a bit lost en route. In those instances, hubby pulls out the cell phone GPS service. When the cell phone appears, son and I know we are about to go from turned around to completely lost for hours. The cell phone is NEVER accurate in its directions but hubby puts his complete faith in the Phone. It doesn’t matter if the big huge signs all say turn right, if the Phone says turn left, hubby turns left.

Hubby’s undying belief in the Phone has led us to interesting discoveries of the swamps of South Carolina and small forgotten ghost towns in Florida. Son and I secretly call it the “Deliverance Phone” because we swear we hear banjo music in the background behind the voice on the Phone. We’ve discovered that one way signs can be ignored if the Phone says traveling the opposite way is the correct route. It must have some sort of traffic law-suspension powers. We have traversed the same stretch of road in both directions several times over because the Phone gets stuck in a “Recalculating route. Make a u-turn as soon as it is safely possible.” Of course, hubby gets uptight when son or I cautiously point out that we’ve now passed Larry’s Lounge and Bait Shop three times in the last ten minutes. Hubby simply contends that Larry must be franchised to multiple locations.

Hubby always wanted to be a jet pilot but he’s too tall. The Air Force would have required him to cut his legs off at the knees to be able to fly their planes. I think he secretly fantasizes he is flying a jet when he drives. I’m sure he is convinced a Honda Civic can achieve Mach 1 and heavy traffic conditions are just an opportunity to practice close formation flying. Like a Thunderbird pilot, hubby feels traveling 300 mph 7 inches from your wing man is a great accomplishment. I should note that Thunderbird pilots fly without anyone else in the cockpit. If they did, that person would be gripping the door handle and bracing his feet against the floorboard, too. I’m also pretty sure Thunderbirds have better navigation systems than the Deliverance Phone.

If we are going to be traveling far with hubby at the wheel, I’ve learned to double up on my beta blocker for my heart condition and add a dose of my anxiety medication to my normal dosage. I’m thoroughly convinced that if I WERE to start having a panic attack or heart palpitations, it would only cause hubby to drive faster; his logic would be that he sooner we reached our destination, the better.

Planes, trains and automobiles are definitely part of our family theme this year. I’m sure at some point “Throw Momma from the Train” has also arisen in some of the male minds in the household. Quite frankly, I think we are closest to “Crash” part of the time but most of the time it’s just “Driving Mrs. Crazy”.