Driving Miss Crazy

I hate to drive. Well, maybe hate is a strong word. Awkward might be better. I have always found driving to be awkward. I don’t like other people judging my speed. I take it personally when people go around me, even when I am going 70. I don’t like when people look at me in the car. It feels like being on the Gong Show and any minute I am going to get kicked off stage for looking goofy. I have a horrible sense of direction and I just don’t like being behind the wheel with people in my car. I have been this way for as long as I can remember. I am a commuter and usually got away with this since there was really no need for me to drive. However, I got the point where I figured I might as well suck it up and get behind the wheel and go for it. I would not be a slave to my anxieties so much that I am trapped in my own home, or dependant on rides.

I started with some baby steps. I have my directions all written out and landmarks to guide me. Long story short, I worked my way up to 2 expressways, and a lot of long routes to far away places, because I don’t mind driving side streets. I get around. I still don’t really like it, per say. But I do it and feel good about it, to a certain extent. Sometimes it still makes me kind of anxious and crabby but over all, good times for me.

Another thing that makes it a bit more tolerable is my son. His sensory issues and delays have added a rich dimension and layers to our relationship. This of course is code for “he really can’t stand my face and would rather not share space with me at home”. It’s kind of true, unfortunately. I am rarely allowed in the same room with him lately. I get a lot of abuse and he toys with my emotions, but we are working on it, and I know we will get through. I don’t blame him, and I am starting to not blame me. But we have found a glorious medium in which a truce is called and I can feel like the delightful and loving mom I was meant to be.

The boy loves a good car ride.

Now, at first, I thought this to be the cruelest of all fates for me. Can’t he like just singing and dancing? Watching the front load washer spin around? Facebook? Anything? Anything? Bueller?? No. He loves the one thing that is hardest for me to do comfortably. Drive.

The good thing is, I only drive with him in the car. We listen to music, and sometimes he let’s me sing. We catch each other’s eyes in the mirror and he smiles very big. His father has significantly different taste in music than me, so for every Usher or Black Eyed Peas song he starts to learn, I try to make up for it with Lou Reed, Foo Fighters, The Gits, Van Morrison, or David Bowie. There is a pretty cool kids song by the Indigo Girls that he has me replay 5 times in a row. I do it, because pure communication isn’t exactly his best talent right now, and if he clearly states me loves the music, I will comply.

He sleeps sometimes, but mostly he just chills. And the more he chills, the more I chill. Once, while at a red light, I even did the robot. He laughed.

Much like the little jerky miracle worker he is, he has broadened my horizon and made me a bit more comfortable in my car. At this point, if swallowing light bulbs made this child laugh, I would do it. Listening to Justin Bieber? Not so much.

Bebe

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