I would have made a terrible chauffeur. I just don’t have the patience and what little patience I do have is being sorely tried this month.
Let’s be clear. I am a great short order cook. Eggs and toast? You got ’em. Last minute order of hot dogs? I’m on it. I also happen to be pretty good at cleaning the laundry, doing the groceries, taking out the trash, loading and unloading the dishwasher and doing whatever other tasks need to be tackled around the house while M is out of commission.
But the driving? The driving is slowly destroying my will to live. (Yes, I’m also really good at over-exaggerating.)
M has been in a full neck brace since his surgery back in December. It was fine while he was home with me. (In fact it was lovely, like a lengthy second honeymoon.) But now that he’s back at work, I’ve found that instead of enjoying time alone with the man of my dreams, I’m spending all my waking hours in the car.
OK, fine, not ALL the waking hours.
It just feels like that.
We leave the house at 8am. At 8:30 we pull into C’s school. At 8:55 I pull into the parking lot next to M’s office and Little L starts to whine about how long we’ve been driving. At 9:25 I pull into the driveway at her daycare and finally release her from the confines of her car seat. And, at long last, at almost 10am I pull back into our driveway.
Five hours later, I get back into the car and do the trip in reverse.
So, on average, I’ve been driving 4 hours every day, not counting errands, trips out to eat, or whatever other compelling reason lures me back into the driver’s seat.
For the last 12 years, M has been the designated driver in our family. He likes to drive. He likes to be in control of the vehicle. And guess what? I like being a passenger. You can read, play on your phone, help the kids pick up the fifteen toys they’ve dropped on the floor, check your make-up in the mirror, futz with the radio. And when you’re out to dinner with friends you can enjoy that extra glass of wine or three.
In two weeks M should be released from the brace. I have a feeling that we’ll both be doing a happy dance in the parking lot as we walk away from the clinic. Him because he’ll be free for the first time in six weeks, me because I’ll be handing him the car keys.
|M can’t wait to be free of what Little L calls his Neck Ray.|