Thoughts on Potty Training & Driving Training

"Never lend your car to anyone to whom you have given birth." -Erma Bombeck

These kids of mine, they're growing up. I took Sabrina driving yesterday, driving on the road that is. We boldly bypassed the church parking lot and went for the gusto. And by gusto I mean every uninhabited back road I could come up with. I look forward to teaching my children to drive with as much enthusiasm as I had for potty training. Once Jessica was finally potty-trained, I breathed a great sigh of relief and proclaimed, "I'm glad that's over with!" Only to realize that I had more than one child and that my potty-training days were far from over. When Jessica received her license, I gave that familiar sigh of relief, only to realize that there are three more to train. 

An accident in potty-training is far different than an accident in driving training. We parents are not afforded that lovely brake pedal on the passenger's side that the Driver's Ed. teachers enjoy. You would think that I had such a pedal considering the muscle spasms my right leg is experiencing after one 20 minute driving session with my enthusiastic 15 year old. I maintained a calm demeanor throughout most of the experience. The calmness of my voice was in direct contrast to the calmness of my actual nerves. Several times Sabrina reminded me to relax, keep my pants on, don't freak out. This coming from the child who had already hit a curb and nearly scuffed the paint of several cars parked on the side of the road. She would say I'm exaggerating. It's possible. Post-traumatic stress syndrome does that to people. Sabrina says that I handled things better than her father, who apparently kept his hand on the parking brake at all times. Mind you, they never left the church parking lot.

I remind myself that, just like potty-training, most children finally do master the skill of driving, and when they do, a whole new world of freedom emerges. A world of, "Could you run to the store and grab me a dozen eggs?", a world of, "Could you take your brother to viola lessons?" a world of, "Are you heading off to your friends house? What time will you be back? Have a good time." This was a world I was enjoying until my resident driver suddenly became, well not a resident of this house, and now I must fetch my own eggs, run the kids to their lessons single-handedly, and chauffeur my teenagers to all of their respective social events. Yes, I'm a martyr:)

One of these days, I'll let Sabrina drive home from school or to her violin lesson, but not this day, and probably not tomorrow, and next week may be pushing it. After all, the girl wasn't potty-trained in a day. Well actually she was. But that's a story for another time.