Driving Me Crazy

Last night’s conversation with my husband during our post-Thanksgiving dinner sans the turkey and tofu but with our favorite trimmings—stuffing and cranberry crisp—focused on what we see as each other’s “issues.”  After we agreed that I could name a dozen that I see in him and yet I have nothing obvious—the perennial joke—I admitted there are internal demons I grapple with, that night being a perfect example of a struggle that has tamed over the years but continues to linger.   

Other than regularly sharing my pet peeves such as apostrophes utilized in the wrong place, or quotation marks where they don’t belong, I decided that in the spirit of our partnership, I would give my husband a glimpse of the inner workings of my head and he would see that despite my cool exterior, I was ready to burst! 

Hadn’t he noticed that I had been obsessed with the current snowstorm, looking online at the weather channel, watching every TV station’s interpretation of the forecast models multiple times, and still I was hungry for more information?  This hadn’t just been in recent hours; I felt I’d been ruminating about it for days.

My issue was that once the storm ended, my 20 year-old daughter Amy, who goes to college at West Chester University (PA), would be driving on snow and ice-covered roads in the unfamiliar territory of Newtown Square at 8:30 a.m. the next morning for a new babysitting gig.  We experienced drivers know that early morning hours can be just as treacherous as nightfall, even on treated roads, not having had the benefits of prolonged sunshine and other traffic to melt away remaining trouble spots.   

It wasn’t that she was afraid to make the drive – she wasn’t; it wasn’t that I didn’t trust her to drive safely – I do; it wasn’t that I felt she shouldn’t be doing this – she’s doing exactly what she should be doing.  She was showing the signs of a young lady who is growing up and becoming more independent, the very reason I wanted her to go to college in the first place (academics aside, of course). 

And if I didn’t have a husband who would tell me I’m crazy, or worse yet may tell his co-workers during their daily lunch hour together, I may have offered—although I am sure I’d have heard in the tone of her voice just how appalled she was—to pick her up in West Chester this morning, drive her to Newtown Square and made the return trip…that’s often my first instinct and, granted, that is an issue.  But, she is my baby…need I say more?  

While the thought of her navigating these roads during compromised conditions was driving me crazy, my reaction was actually a drastic improvement over years before. There were times when just the act of one of our children driving anywhere regardless of weather conditions would have sent me straight to my emergency-only chocolate selection hidden in the back of the refrigerator.

Clearly, my concerns have nothing to do with my daughter’s abilities. They are about my letting go and understanding that we are two separate individuals, not one long person with different ages, personalities and interests. It's is my job to continue to encourage her to make independent decisions and not secretly wish she’d crawl back in utero.

She kindly called me this morning before she left as I asked her to, and we discussed defensive driving and hidden black ice and everything I could say (for the umpteenth time) with one breath before she would cut me off.  Her one-word text “Here!” was a most welcome four-letter word!  Now in lieu of that I'm waiting to see her smiling face at my door, having returned not only from her babysitting job but from college for her winter break.    

I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if I keep my chocolate inventory well stocked.