My Youngest Baby Is Driving..........

Well.  Today was the day.  Today was the day I knew my Youngest Baby would pass his driver's test.

I don't know why we put it off for so long.  I think we may even have forgotten about it for a while......but then we remembered.

Luckily I knew exactly where the birth certificate and social security number papers were, due to the move.  I carefully loaded those and all other "important" papers into the glove box of the car.  Once there, I promptly forgot about them, and there they stayed until discovered by my Oldest Baby when he was going through car insurance papers.

We would also need a piece of mail with Youngest Baby's name on it.  I took a college propaganda pamphlet that we have been receiving multitudes of lately and felt prepared.  We had a little hiccup when it was discovered that Youngest Baby did not have his glasses with him at this time.  He barely passed an eye exam and did not even offer that his glasses had been lost in the move.  Either that, or they are still at my Fourth Son's house where we certainly hope, but do not know, for sure, they were left by accident on their last trip to visit.  

Still he passed, as I knew he would.  So on we go to the Department of Revenue office (don't you love that they finally got honest with that title?  It's no longer the Department of Motor Vehicles--just call a spade a spade and get real, people.  We are all about the Revenue, we even have a sign that proves it. ;)) and I offer the college propaganda pamphlet, clearly addressed in my Youngest Baby's name.

It is unacceptable.  They need a utility bill in his name, which, naturally, being 17 years old and junior in high school, he does not have.  But wait!  The registration for the car would work, as long as I am willing to sign a paper giving him "permission" to use my address.  As if my address is not also his home.  I sign the paper and he goes out to look through the glove box for the registration.

I am not worried because I just had to renew the tags on my car, for which I had this registration just a few weeks ago.  He comes back with 8 years of proof of insurance, the title for the car, and the Rock Star's birth certificate.  But no registration.

At which point the lady says that I can just run to the bank, get a copy of my last statement, which does not have my Youngest Baby's name on it (but that doesn't matter since I signed the paper), but will show my new address.  Now, what kind of sense this makes escapes me, and I assume could only possibly make sense to government employees, but aside from that, it would only take a few minutes to run to the bank and get said statement.  So we did that, discussing crazy govt. rules most of the way.

On our way back to the refreshingly honest Department of Revenue, it hit me.  This was my last time doing this.  I remembered the first time.  It was kind of sad.  The second time was bittersweet but I was resigned to it.  The third time, kind of a pain because I was tired and there were 2 of them..........but this was my last time.  I wasn't even nervous this time, I was that sure he would pass.  And now it was almost over.  I began humming You Can't Go Home Again by Wynona Judd but had to stop to concentrate on not actively crying.  Something about sons and how oblivious they are to such moments being a blessing floated through my head and then we were there.  We had the (impossible to explain, but hey, whatEVer) required documentation and the cash.  We were ready.

The rest went pretty smoothly, including the part where they offered to go ahead and register him to vote despite the fact that he is not 18 years old.  Have you noticed that?  It's not so new but I have noticed the strangest people, at the strangest times, trying to register me and/or my children to vote in the past few years.  You may have noticed it too.  Interesting, to say the least.  He declined the kind offer with a straight face.  I was so proud, I really was.  His face was so straight that I was unsure if he even noticed that this was strange.  How would he know the difference?  How would any kid who just got his license?  I'm sure it's just a public service.  Right?  Anyway, you might just be aware and see if you don't notice that, because I find it a cloying overstep that should not be dismissed, let alone indulged.

The rest of the trip went smoothly and we decided to stop at The Heart and Home for lunch.  I announced that I was sad, that My Youngest Baby was happy, and that I might cry before we even got in the door.  That Linda, being the angel that she is, arranged a brownie hot fudge sundae in honor of both of our moods, and we still got him to school in time to attend his afternoon classes.  

Mom, it's no big deal.   Please don't cry, Mom.

On the way to school I told him it was a new era in his life, and mine.  I must say I do relish the fact that I don't have to drive anymore unless I just want to.  I told him to shoot my Fourth Son a text and let him know that we must know, and get, those glasses back if at all possible.  I told him he would never remember the score of this particular test in 20 years.  He said he bet he would.  We will have to wait and see, it will take 20 years to find out who's right.  But it will probably be me.  heh heh

Picking Your Battles............

Being a mother is not for the faint of heart.  It's a job that does not come with weekends, days off, or vacation.  It's a job that calls for decisions that are often deemed heartless by one's own offspring.  Sometimes you just have to stand your ground and wait for enough time to pass that they see the reasoning behind your "heartlessness" and thank you for it.  It's a tricky dance to ensure that your child is well taken care of, healthy, and happy.

In fact, happy is usually the hardest part. You spend a lot of time second guessing yourself, and sometimes it takes years before you know you did, or did not do, the right thing.

What makes our children happy sometimes breaks our hearts, scares us to death, enrages us, and can even drive us to despair.

Don't get worried, I am just talking about a shirt.  You would not think that just a shirt could put anyone through such anguish, unless you were a mother.

All my children had blankies as babies that gradually fell apart by the time the children were about 3.

I saved these blankies faithfully, even when there were only shreds of them left.

I felt it was the right thing to do.

Now, I know it was the right thing to do.  If you have ever seen your child's face light up when they see a long lost "friend" such as this, you know what I'm talking about.  If you haven't yet seen this, save the crap they love, even if it's gross.  Just do the best you can.  They can throw it away if they want.  It's theirs to throw, all in good time.

How could I throw away something my babies loved?

Throw away part of their security?  NEVER!

I carefully saved and packed away those blankies, or what was left of them, packed in plastic bags so that no bugs, no mold, no bad smells, would desecrate what meant so much to my children.

Lately, however, this particular battle has come back around to haunt me.

I offer the prosecution's exhibit 1.

I don't think this picture does justice to how bad of a shape this poor sweatshirt is in.

It used to be white.

It came into my youngest babies life when he was in 7th grade.

He wore it MUCH.

That was 5 years ago.

It's been through a lot with him.

Possibly the most important years of his life.

I have wrestled with getting rid of it for at least 3 years now.

He loves this sweatshirt as much as he loved his blankie when he was small.

Here is another shot against an off-white washing machine.

It certainly was worth whatever money I spent on it, I must admit.

Especially considering I undoubtedly bought it at a garage sale or a second hand shop.

But.

It's lost it's shape.  It's a dingy gray now, no matter how much I bleach it, add baking soda to the laundry.

Oxiclean has no effect.

I've tried everything except dying it.

I draw the line here because 1) It might upset his delicate emotional balance as it relates to this shirt, and 2) I usually make a terrible mess of things like that and would probably end up with odd splotches of color for months on good clothes.

Believe me, it would happen.

It's lost it's shape.

It's cuffs are torn and tattered.

It hangs on him like a rag.

It has been a really good shirt.  Hollister, my hat is off to you.  Salute!

People might well think it has survived a terrible fire, barely.

I could not blame them for drawing this conclusion, but they would be wrong.

I would feel better if it had survived a terrible fire.

At least that would be a reasonable explanation.

It is getting too embarrassing for me to allow him to wear it anymore.

Can you see my point here?

I mean, I know he loves this shirt.

He has worn it without interruption except for the one time I tried to throw it away, about 2 years ago.

He found it in the trash and told me in no uncertain terms that it was his favorite sweatshirt and he could not live without it.

Could. Not. LIVE.

He felt betrayed that I had thrown it away.

I felt terrible.  I had betrayed him by throwing it away.  I was a bad mom!

But not as terrible as I did when he wore it to school..........

"What must people think of me?" I wondered.  The ego never dies, even if all you have left that you really care about is your laundry skills.  Menopause, the great apathetic state that can be soothing at times.

So when we moved I did not have the heart to throw it away again.

I saw it in the laundry the first week we were here.

 I lobbed that sucker up on top of a pile of cleaning rags in the laundry room.

I had peace of mind for about 2 weeks.

2 weeks that my poor Youngest Baby was frantic looking for his favorite sweatshirt.

He finally decided he had lost it in the move.  Or so I thought.

I thought I had won that battle.  

I consoled myself with the knowledge that I could give it back to him after he had acclimated himself to wearing the many good, warm, unstained, untorn sweatshirts that he has.  In his closet.  Anxiously waiting their turn to get to be worn.

They deserve a turn!!

It is a testament to either his love for this damn thing or just his stubborn, single-minded devotion to all things HIS that he looked until he found it.

I can assure you, he has never surveyed the rag pile before.

I had not won that battle.

I am such a fool.

So tonight, when I found it in the laundry again, (Drat!  Foiled again!) I said

"Youngest Baby?  This sweatshirt........I don't care if you keep it, but could you not wear it anymore?"

This brought a hearty round of laughter from the boys around my kitchen table playing the Magic game.

(The Magic game is some kind of game played with cards.....probably just as bad as video games but not video games, which puts me on the side of the Magic game.)

My Youngest Baby looked hurt.  My heart broke a little more.

His friends said they knew which shirt I spoke of.

They said he wore it to school.  My face got red.

I said it looked like orphan's rags.

He said that shirt had been through a lot with him.

I said I understood.

But then I begged him not to wear it in public anymore.

It's a work shirt, I said.

It's a perfect shirt to work on the car, or burn leaves, I said.

"If I can find another shirt exactly like it?  Would you quit wearing it then?"  I bargained.

He agreed to that.

So now I have a mission.  Possibly an impossible one.

I don't want my Youngest Baby to be unhappy.

I also cannot stand the embarrassment of him wearing this shirt in public ever again.

But I do not have the heart to make that happen because it would hurt him too much.

For whatever reason, this shirt has taught me a lesson.

I am not nearly as tough as I like to pretend.

Oh, I can talk the talk.

I can talk it all day long.

In fact, I am pretty convincing.

But my babies are just as sentimental as I am, and I am proud of that.

In the end, embarrassed as I am that people either think I'm so poor my children have to wear the same clothes endlessly for 5 years at a time, or that I never wash their clothes (which of those 2 things are worse, exactly???) I am a big, old, push over.

At least when it comes to my babies and the things (disgusting as they may sometimes be) that mean a lot to them.

I am not heartless, and this is a good thing.

But do you think people know that?  Or do they just think I'm filthy?

Does this really matter?

No.

All that matters is that I have finally found a way to compromise.

My youngest baby gets to keep the shirt.

In fact, I may frame it.

At least that way he won't wear it anymore.

What's a mother to do when her child's heart is involved?

It's just a shirt.  What's left of a shirt.

Much more bleach and it will surely disintegrate, right?  But that would kill him.

I guess I will look for a frame, and another sweatshirt just like it.