The rite of passage line starts here

At the door to the Texas Driver’s License field office, the Friday before school starts.

Seven in the morning. Doors open seven-thirty.

By the time we get to the information desk, we are number 84.

Sydney holding her number with number being served in the background.

Waiting and waiting in the endless line. Standing room only.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Because to get here, you have to go here. Where it all begin….behind the wheel.

A year ago, my daughter started the dreaded drivers ed at school, which included manual training. The one in which your fifteen year old knows more about road rules than you and is not afraid to point that out. Of course, this is BEFORE she even drives a real car. After weeks of classroom time, the ~~brave dedicated drivers ed instructor~~ teacher paying for his Harley, takes the little darlings (that must be some Harley) out on the road. Then, he deems them worthy of a getting a permit to drive YOUR car – with you “instructing” (or cowering in fear) your child yourself. It was at that time, I could only WISH for the droning correction of road violations and inches from the curb or corner, rather than – the floorboard stomping, rear bucking, clinging to the passenger door handle with all my might – ride of my life. Imagine going from annoying trivia to downright death-gripping terror.

Over and over and over.

There was not a happier soul than me on this child’s 16th birthday. SWEET SIXTEEN. Dreams of the DPS; a license waving, smiling child-o-mine warranted safe for the roads. Whoopee! I would be FREE.

Except I wasn’t. Unfortunately, we didn’t practice parallel parking. More unfortunate? That’s the first thing they make them do. If they can’t? They fail.

Didn’t I ask her if she could parallel park? Why yes, yes I did. Her answer, we did it once in driver’s ed. Do you feel comfortable testing? [:shrugs:]

In all honestly, I failed my parallel parking, but the nice DPS officer – dad of my brother’s best friend – passed me anyway. We were hoping she could be marked off for that and move on. But that wasn’t so. According to the strict, leather pant wearing (even I was intimidated) female DPS officer, you did have to pass that, or fail.

Crap.

So she failed, then she headed off to Mississippi for the summer with promises of practicing driving EVERY day. Her dad assured me, he would take her on the road and do his parental duty. He would step up and partake the same ~~hell~~ instructing, I had done the last six months.

Ah, but see, there is a little problem. What he did not tell me (and still hasn’t, but I figured out on my own thankyouverymuch) is that he has a phobia. it’s not very known, in fact, I couldn’t find the correct term. Fear of riding in the car with a teenage driver. But it’s something like amaxoephebiphobia (your welcome). Yeah. This is a real issue. Like spiders.

So she comes back from two months of bliss with absolutely NO ROAD DRIVING PRACTICE at all, but a really nice beach tan to show off. And do you know what that means in the feeble facebook, text messaging, iPhone, MTV mind of a teenager? We start ALL OVER. I assure you, there is no memory of driving skills. I re-take my place of PAIN in the passenger seat, except this time we add in parallel parking practice upon every outing.

I insist on the busy streets. I insist on parking between two cars. I insist on highway driving. I insist on everything that makes me cringe and weep. It’s a rite of passage. She must be a driver (to get to school, the mall, work). And we did, we drove everywhere – curbs, medians – you name it. All to build up to that day. THE DAY she tests again. When she is finally ready. That day when I can finally ride in the car with her, play words with friends on my iPhone, not stomping, not bucking, not worrying, if I will smack the windshield with my face. Just glancing here and there, playing my words. Ahh. Finally.

So we head to the DPS where begins our line. Our number. Our long wait.

Oh. Mm. Gee.

And then.
They run out of driving tests ten numbers before ours is called.

And then.
We wait in line anyway hoping they have pity on us.

And then.
They don’t and we leave frantically driving and calling other DPS offices.

And then.
They are all full too.

Anyone else a, Dude, Where’s my car fan? Heh.

And then.
We try the country. Cleburne. Because Cleburne is NEVER busy and Cleburne DPS office actually answers their phone and still had driving spots open.

And THEN.
It took us an hour to get there.

AND THEN.
The line looked liked this!

Grrr!

They ran out of spots while waiting in line.

And then…….
I called mercy. Uncle. It. Just. Wasn’t. Happening.

Crushed, we left. All that work, and she didn’t even get a chance to try.

I know you think, well, no problem – just go back the next day. But see, the drivers ed paperwork expired. So she had to re-request that, and then wait to get it back. School started, and there ya go. Another few weeks fly by.

Until yesterday, when we ventured back for another beating. DEEP BREATHS. Seven AM, you guessed it. Already a line formed for when they open at seven-thirty, but thankfully not as long. I refuse to get there with my lawn chair at four am. Refuse. By the time we got all the paperwork filled out, new thumb prints, and cute smiling little pic in front of the blue screen. The first road test opening was noon or three. She had school. I had work. I asked if a non-parent could bring her back for the driving test and they said yes. So, we got a three pm slot with Jason picking her up from school and taking her to it. I was disappointed to miss it. I really was. I wanted to see her face and give her a hug, win or lose. But it just didn’t work out, and you can’t say I didn’t try.

However, I am marrying the most wonderful man in the world. Even though, I wasn’t there. He texted me every moment. He knew how much it meant to me. He knew how long we practiced (and him too).

The officer beginning the test.

Sydney parallel parking like a champ.

She passed, she did it! Yay!

No one told me how emotional this would be. How hard and how rewarding.

Congratulations Sydney! You are a licensed driver in Texas and successfully completed a child’s (and parents) rite of passage. I am so very proud of you.

Now about that driving by yourself thing? Well, I think we need just a tad more time before we are ready. Maybe, we can follow behind you? Just for a little while……

How to Raise a Happy Teen

On May 4, 2010May 4, 2010 By AngeliaIn In the lives of children, Life is what you make it.56 Comments

Possible? Plausible? Urban legend?

Actually no. Listen all you parents of young girls, you don’t have to stress. I have the secret to success and since I have been asked, many times to share it, I thought, what better way than my daughter’s sixteenth birthday week.

First off, throw out the schedules, unless you want your child a stressed out ball of anxiety, screeching monkey, and peeling the wall paper. Micro-managing is not the answer. Forget it. I think the most routine we had was Barney singing on TV and bath time. Those were pretty reliable. I can’t even remember if I made her brush her teeth much less have a bed time. It was by nine (or ten).

She slept with me as an infant until after breastfeeding. Then, I laid down with her as a toddler until she fell asleep. Eventually I just gave her my bed – problem solved. A three-year old in a double bed with no worries of her falling out of it. Heck, the twin wasn’t so bad (heh). If I had only known what it took for her to fall asleep on her own, I would have given her that big old bed moons ago.

She had a room with her very own bathroom by age ten along with a cell phone. Yes, a real one. She grew up on McDonald’s chicken nuggets and fries except for the occasional dinner I would cook, ground beef in a bowl or Kids Cuisine. Yeah, McD’s was much better. Let’s not forget mom’s breakfast either. Cinnamon toast, hold the toast, just pass the butter and sugar. She had candy and soda when she wanted and never gorged on it. Never thought it was a big deal. Never obsessed about it (unlike me).

Right now, that girl has EASTER candy from last year on her dresser. IN PLAIN SIGHT. Never opened. Yeah, it’s gross but my point is, she used to have to hide candy from ME. She could care less about it while I hunted it down. She eats it when she wants to, no big deal.

She dressed herself from age two on. I didn’t care if it matched. I don’t think anyone else did either but she had a scary eye for colors and shoes even at age two. Of course, she did change clothes – a lot. Luckily, I like doing laundry.

I took her EVERYWHERE to EVERYTHING from a week old up. Plane rides, car rides, shopping, showers, funerals, weddings, movies, sporting events, work, and many, many kid things too. We sang. We danced. I never missed a Barney beat. Mary Kate & Ashley? The Olsen twins – AFTER Full House – they rocked. We had every VCR episode on tape. I’m not kidding. Every. One.

In our house, if you heard Sponge Bob come on the Cartoon Network, you were to immediately drop what you were doing. Run, not walk, to the living room and BELT the theme song at the top of your lungs.
SPONGE BOB SQUARE PANTS! SPONGE BOB SQUARE PANTS!
SPOOOOOONGE BOOOOOOB! SQUAAAAARE PAAAANTS!
I guess I could have put her in time out if she didn’t, but I don’t think she ever had time out. Nor was she spanked (maybe once?). I think she has been grounded twice (her entire life that is).

She had bad grades in elementary, 2nd grade, but then again she was diagnosed with ADHD. She had been through a big move from one city to another, from one school to another. It’s no wonder. Poor kid.

Maybe you think this is a recipe for a “bad” kid. I mean…I didn’t follow all the rules, right? Spoiled, entitled, does what she wants with no consequences. I’m too much of friend not a mom. Is she really sneaking out to party?

Busted! New Year’s Eve boozing it up!

Well, no. Actually she likes hanging out with me. I have no idea why.

Maybe it’s how I roll….

I have never held anything back from Sydney. She knows my mistakes. BIG ONES. She knows my failures. EVEN BIGGER. I was never anything but honest to her. I’m not perfect. I’m just mom. No one ever said I had to be. If I do admit to any regret, it’s from not enjoying her baby years more. I was too worried about being a mom, not sure when that changed. Maybe after my ~~1000th and one~~ one MILLIONTH and one mom failure.

One thing is for sure, she never doubted I loved her. The only thing I stood firm on was NO DRUGS. I promised to shave her head if she ever tried them (still would Sydney! Bald as an egg). The only horror I put her through (besides ex #2) was riding the Jurassic Park Adventure at Universal Studios. She cried in line. Hey, we came all the way to Orlando, she was RIDING IT! She STILL denies enjoying it. Of course the picture tells a different story, it was pretty pitiful with her and her cousin hunkered down under the bar, faces twisted in horror frozen in a scream. My bad. That really was an awesome ride, those dinosaurs looked soooo real.

So hear me out. Stop stressing. Be honest. Don’t say, DO. Laugh, at everything. Sing, off-key. Dance, radically. Live, so your inside child never dies. RELAX. Have faith. Enjoy every moment before it’s gone.

Just be careful who is watching. You may influence a new generation.

Hey Sydney….

Thanks for being so incredibly amazing. You really did it on your own (didn’t you?). I feel like I was along for the ride (except when you drive, please let me out at that point). You never cease to amaze me with your funny humor, easy-going stride, and your slice of pure cool awesomeness. I am so grateful you are my daughter.

My mom swears I didn’t get the experience of raising a “real” kid. Whatever you are, I hope you always stay the same – glowing with your inner brightness and child-like spirit – I hope you stay a happy teenage girl forever.

My Hooptie Ride

On May 1, 2010May 1, 2010 By AngeliaIn I did it for love & it didn't kill me, In the lives of children42 Comments

I must admit…I don’t name my cars. I never have. Even when I got a car on my 16th birthday. It was a sweet silver Mercury Cougar 1984. Many called it the silver bullet, but that wasn’t its name, not by me anyway. It was just my car that I dinged wrecked too many times to count.

Since then, I’ve had a red Eagle Talon, a green Neon, a white Plymouth Breeze, and a champagne Nissan Pathfinder (10yrs old). I liked all my cars. I did. I just wasn’t creative enough to name them or anything. Maybe I didn’t want to get too attached. I mean, one day, they would become an old used up trade in never seen from again.

But my car now? Well, I love it. It’s a Black Toyota Matrix, after almost five years it has a name. Hooptie. I loooove my hooptie ride. It’s just the right size. It has seen me through thick and thin and many, many moves. My baby even carried a full size filing cabinet, my dogs, kids, co-workers and family. It gets mistaken for an SUV all the time even though it’s only a Toyota Corolla with a hatchback. It’s amazing how much I can pack in there. It’s even good on gas.

The only problem it had? The hubcaps. I kept losing them. Believe me it’s not pretty. Missing a hubcap is like going without shoes and having ugly feet. I kept replacing them with the original factory ones, but eventually another would fall off and they would get harder and harder to find at a cheap price (unbroken that is). I finally replaced them with metal fitting hubcaps. These were the best I could do picking a style.

It took me a bit to get used to them but it was better than shelling out bucks for rims. It was still my beloved. Then, I noticed my poor (plastic) hubcaps were missing a bolt. A fake bolt at that. The horror!

Now according to urban dictionary – a hooptie is a clunker. I don’t think my ride is a clunker by any means, but definitely the hubcaps were hooptie. I guess that fits in a way, but really it’s a very nice car. Hooptie just became my endearing term for a car that I’ve grown attached to and been through many miles with in the last five years.

As Sydney approaches sixteen (FIVE DAYS), we had to figure out what wheels she would drive. I didn’t want to buy her a “true” hooptie unless that’s what she really wanted and definitely not a new car. NO WAY. She needed a first car that was reliable but not a lot of money. The only thing that made sense was to give her my car (almost paid for) and I would get a new(er) car. Of course she thinks THAT’S totally unfair. I get a new car and she gets a hooptie?

Uh, hello, I’m the MOM here. Now her getting a MOM car and not a teenage car, that I can understand. So I promised her she could pick out new rims and a new stereo. That way my car would be “her” car. During my time off I went to get the tires rotated since the steering wheel vibrated my arms off going 60 on the freeway. Lo and behold the tires were bad. Totally worn out and bald – which is why it shook – and I needed new tires. It seemed a good time for Sydney to pick out rims even though she won’t officially have the car until she returns from Mississippi this summer.

We paged through a large catalog to select the rims and tires. Her choice. Whatever she wanted. I think she did a good job considering she is a girl and neither of us know anything about cars. Now what I forgot was that I would be the driver of a VERY teenage car for the rest of the summer. Oops.

Hey, how would you like to meet my new ride……introducing my pimped out hooptie with new bling to rank it as a G ride. Holla!

Sick, I know (as in crazy, cool). I get a lot of looks and even had someone trying to race me last night. Yeah, I’m poppin’. Look out, here comes the old lady in a Hooptie ride!

Thanks kid, I can’t wait to get my booming stereo. Word out.