On Being Chauffeured

I miss driving.  I miss being able to jump in the car and go where I need to when I need to (or want to).  Well, I really couldn't do that right now anyway since my car is STILL in the shop from the accident SK had three weeks ago--she says it was good timing since I can't drive anyway because of the boot on my right foot.  I suppose that's one way to look at it---

I know there are people who drive with their left foot--I have been one of those people.  I was one of those people and because I was I have raised the bar on how to tick off your mother in law to a height my sister in laws can never reach.  A year and a half ago I pulled into my mother in law's driveway driving with my left foot.  I put the car in park but didn't turn it off--why?  I have no idea...as I lifted my right foot over the console it knocked the gear into drive.  I slammed on the brakes--well I thought I slammed on the brakes; I slammed the gas pedal down.  My car lurched forward, clipped Chris' rear bumper and plowed into my mother in law's brand new BMW (some series I cannot even begin to think about affording).  Her car plowed into their fence, slightly up the hill of their back yard and came to a complete stop by knocking down their shed.  (They should probably thank me for taking out their shed; they wanted it down and they were going to have to pay someone to do what I managed to accomplish in just a few minutes, at no charge, well at least to them...)  My car was totaled which is why I now have this beautiful car I love that my children keep wrecking!  And so I don't drive when I'm in a boot---

Nonetheless, the novelty of being chauffeured by my children is starting to wear off for me; I think it is long gone for Boss.  He says driving with me makes him nervous because I'm always grabbing the roof or slamming my non boot foot  into the dashboard.  In my defense, he has been involved in multiple accidents this summer; in his defense they weren't all his fault.  Yesterday as we were driving and I was both grabbing the roof and slamming my foot he asked, "What do you think doing that is going to do other than increase my anxiety?"  "I just don't want to die." I replied.  "Well," he retorted, 'if  we wreck and die wouldn't you rather them find your body in a normal position and not all contorted and weird?"  I'm pretty sure there is no right answer to that....

Wednesday Boss was taking me in his truck downtown to church.  It's typically my day off, but one of my parishioners was going to receive communion for the first time at the 5:30 service and I wanted to be there.  (She is absolutely precious and there was no way I was missing this!)  Another difference Boss and I have is how we get to church.  I cannot stand driving on interstates if I don't have to; he cannot stand stopping at traffic lights.  (He has not had an accident at a traffic light so I'm assuming he does stop when he has to.)  I suggested to him that the interstate may not be the best choice because it was traffic time; he didn't listen.  Being chauffeured by your children gives you a lot of practice in knowing when to speak and when to let them make choices and deal with the consequences.  This was one of those times--

We got on the interstate and within five minutes were stopped in the inside lane (a point that will become important) in traffic.  At one point I timed it and we went less than a mile in 10 minutes (I said I didn't speak not that I didn't take guilty pleasure in knowing I was right).  My hand was getting a work out grabbing the roof as we were stopping and starting continuously and I thought not leaving enough room between cars--  Boss turned to me and said, "My stomach is killing me.  I feel really sick."  "You can lie down on my couch when we get to my office."  (I didn't add where we would already be if you had listened to me.)  "I really feel like I'm going to be sick."  Just then he rolled down his window--yep he was.  So now he's throwing up out the driver's side window and trying to watch the traffic as it is starting and stopping,  I started scanning the road trying to figure out how we could pull off--there was no way.  I was trying to be sympathetic and help him so I turned around in my seat to find a cloth or a drink.  I grabbed one of his t-shirts so he could wipe his face and the side of the door.  (I couldn't believe how much crap there was in the backseat--another opportunity to practice not speaking.)  As I turned back around I caught the eye of the driver next to us.  I could almost hear her judging me.  I moved the seat back and tried to get my foot up on the dashboard.  "What ARE you doing?" Boss asked as I was contorting myself.  "I've got to get my foot up so people know I'm not a self centered mother who makes her son drive her around while he's throwing up."  I'm pretty sure he thought, "No, not a self centered mother but definitely a neurotic, paranoid one." but now it was his turn to practice not speaking.