I think it was my driver's ed teacher -- or maybe it was my mother -- who told me, as I placed the key in the ignition of our 1960-something Chevy Impala for the very first time, that unless I became a police officer, fire fighter or joined the armed services, driving was the most dangerous activity I would likely undertake in my life.
While I have no idea if this is statistically true, these words have echoed loudly in my mind this past week. My 15-year-old son now has his learner's permit.
Getting the permit was deceptively easy. He passed a written test at his driver's ed class and the next day he and I headed to the DMV. While there he filled out some paperwork, decided to become an organ donor, got his picture taken, and took a quick eye test. I then signed a document accepting responsibility for his driving actions (yikes) and the woman behind counter three handed us a temporary copy of the permit (the laminated real deal comes in the mail). It took all of 20 minutes.
Legally, he could have driven me home. Except I don't think he even knows how the headlights work.
I guess you could say the hard part starts now. Sure, he'll take a couple of lessons behind the wheel as part of his driver's ed class. But ultimately, it's my husband and I who will teach him to drive.
And for me, that's like asking me to teach someone how to swim or ride a bike. Both are things I know how to do. But I'm hardly a master of either one of them, and you certainly wouldn't want me as your instructor. As a driver, you would call me competent, at best. I can probably get you from point A to point B safely, but it might not be too pretty -- the multiple dings and scratches on the side of my car pay testament to this fact.
Fortunately though, my husband should be pretty good at this. First, he really enjoys driving -- the more challenging the situation, the better. When we lived in Mexico City some years back, I never once got behind the wheel of our Nissan Tsuru. There didn't seem to be any rules of the road South of the Border, as far I could tell. No one used turn signals, or respected speed limits or road signs. They only used horns. And used them all the time.
But my husband relished the automobile anarchy. He took great pride in becoming a simultaneously excellent offensive and defensive driver. To him, driving has always been a bit of a sport. And one he really enjoys playing.
But perhaps more importantly, my husband is also more patient. His number one rule of the universe is "don't panic." And I am guessing this philosophy will make him far better equipped at keeping his cool during the inevitable parallel parking pitfalls and ill-advised lane changes that come with beginning driving.
So I think for right now I might take the back seat when it comes to my son's driving instruction. Instead, I will concentrate my time on silently praying he actually does become a police officer.
But the kind of officer, mind you, who rides a horse instead of driving the squad car.
Any other moms out there with kids of driving age? Any tips on how you protected both your kid and your sanity while teaching offspring how to drive?comments powered by Disqus
As far as places to embark on Baby's First Air Travel go, Dane County Regional Airport is a pretty sound choice, especially at 6 p.m. on a Saturday night. My biggest fear was that my nine-month-old son would start screaming in the airport; my second biggest fear was that my son would start screaming and some of my former Epic colleagues would be around to hear it.
The recent shift in the weather is just another sign that autumn is fast approaching. That means one of my favorite activities is just around the corner -- apple picking. My husband and I have been picking apples every fall since before our kids were born.
I have a lot of questions about what to put on my eight-month-olds' plates -- and, if I'm honest, a deep and abiding fear of putting the wrong thing there. Did I start them on solid foods at the right time? What's the deal with baby-led weaning -- how much self-feeding should they be doing? At what age should I give them potential allergens like shellfish or nut products?
Lily the potbellied pig arrived at Heartland Farm Sanctuary blind, lethargic and too overweight to walk. The children of Heartland's summer day camp program took it upon themselves to put the curl back in her tail.
Is it just me or does each summer seem to go by quicker than the last? The end of summer is upon us and for many families this means the start of a new school year.
This past week, on the way to the grocery store, my daughter asked what I believed she thought would be a innocuous question, "Mom, when are we going back-to-school shopping?"
Volunteering with the Young Writers Summer Camp this past week really helped me to remember how utterly creative kids can be when encouraged to come up with their own ideas and use their own words.
This past week I gleefully accepted an offer for new job on the UW-Madison campus. My kids are getting are older and I guess I've felt for a while now that it was time to figure out what would be next for me on the professional front.
"Kids spend so much time in and around school, it's the only place where some have a chance to develop an appreciation for a healthy lifestyle," says Katie Hensel, founder and executive director of Tri 4 Schools.
"I'm envious, mom," said my twelve-year-old daughter as she hopped in the car after theater camp last week. "All the other kids in my group seem to really like, and to be really good at, singing, dancing and acting. But I think all those things are just okay."
"People are looking to book space here all the time," says Remy Fernández-O'Brien, communications and facilities coordinator for the Lussier Community Education Center, a private, nonprofit community center on Madison's west side. "They want to throw their child's first birthday party here or hold a Girl Scout meeting. We're really busy year-round, but it's especially lively here in the summer."
Last week, in response to the county-wide Sleep Safe, Sleep Well public health campaign that encourages parents to "share the room, not the bed" with their sleeping infants, Isthmus contributor Ruth Conniff penned a lovely opinion piece in defense of bed sharing entitled "Confessions of a Co-Sleeper."
As much as I'd like to believe there is latent genius in my daughter's early finger paintings, I'm pretty sure her works are not distinguishable from those created by the pointer fingers and pinkies of thousands of other children from across the world.
Seeing Romeo and Juliet this past weekend was a definite reminder that I need to prepare for something that might resemble a (near) West Side Story around our place pretty soon.
All during childhood, we calmly tell our kids they don't need to be afraid of the dark, thunder or the monster under the bed. But it's pretty hard to keep your parental cool when your kid is about to embark on the one thing that terrifies you. I knew the problem wasn't really with him. It was with me.
Last January, when temperatures dipped below minus 30 and most people between the ages of 16 and 24 did anything to stay inside, a small yet sturdy group of at-risk teenage boys and young men stacked wood and managed controlled burns at Festge County Park near Cross Plains. Five months later, following a temperature swing of more than 100 degrees, Isthmus found some of those same guys removing invasive honeysuckle and buckthorn at Lake View Hill County Park on Madison's north side.
The first week of summer break at our place usually comes and goes without incident. At times, one could argue, it even verges on pleasant. I have no school lunches to pack and the kids have no 7 a.m. buses to catch.
Have you tried getting anywhere on either Verona Road or East Johnson lately? I'm pretty sure a six-month old could crawl to Fitchburg, or across the isthmus, in less time that it takes me to drive there these days.
As soon as the door closed behind him, I poured myself a cup of the coffee he had made and took a moment to let the enormity of what just happened sink in. My son was ready that morning despite my inability to properly set an alarm clock. My kid was ready that morning without nudging, cajoling, or reminding. He was ready, even when I wasn't.
For the past 17 years or so (i.e., since I've had kids), I haven't made books the priority in my life I know they should be. It's not that I don't try. Just this past weekend I had the best of intentions of picking up, and even finishing, I am Malala, this year's UW-Madison's Go Big Read pick. But the copy still sits untouched on my nightstand.