DRIVING MISS CRAZY

It seems a gale force wind has entered our home and is blowing the pages of our calendar - turning, turning, turning them so quickly it's as though they've been caught in the winds of a tornado.

And I am desperately trying to stop those pages from turning - wanting to throw myself against the kitchen wall on which the calendar hangs, hoping to flatten said calendar so that the pages will remain still.

Why oh why are we parents unable to stop time?

We parents who, it seems yesterday, were watching the clock wondering if this day would ever end, if we would ever get past this stage, then this stage, then this stage. Long days, short years.

Time - it sure is ticking away here at the house of W.

In two days my baby girl will be Sweet Sixteen. A couple of days after that, she will obtain her drivers license.

Who, I ask you, thought it was a good idea to give babies a license to drive?

Ridiculous.

Four weeks after our Sweet Sixteen celebration, my baby boy leaves for boot camp.

Who, I ask you, thought it was a good idea to put babies in combat boots and arm them with M-16s?

Ridiculous.

But lest we be overwhelmed with melancholy during these next few weeks - the weeks between our younger child getting her license and our older child leaving the nest - we find ourselves distracted by some upcoming excitement.

Because for those four weeks?

WE'RE MAKING THEM SHARE A CAR.

WITH EACH OTHER.

Any of you care to guess how well this decision has been received?

We are the meanest parents in the world.

*high fives all around*

Each of our children has brought their case to me in hopes that I could somehow convince their father to purchase another vehicle for those four weeks.

Each of them has, almost identically, thrown his or her hands in the air and proclaimed "This is not going to work."

To which I reply with great empathy:

"Well, make it work."

Feel free to use that bit of wisdom any time you want.

Kayla is enjoying a slight victory, however, because I have proclaimed that softball games and practices take priority. Since Blake is in no extra curricular activities at this time, he will be at the mercy of the girls' softball schedule when it comes to use of the vehicle.

Blake has used all of his debate and negotiating skills to get us to change our minds but I have held firm.

"You've given rides to your buddies for nearly three years. Make those hooligans reciprocate for a few weeks."

His argument, while heartbreaking, has left me unable to stand upright, so hard do I laugh when he brings it to me.

Since he appears unwilling to swallow his pride and drive my mini van it seems his only option, according to him, is to walk to school and hitch hike 7 miles up a major highway.

I told him that was fine as long as he wasn't tardy.

Or he could....you know...ride the bus...if he doesn't want to ride with his sister.

This is when he informed me that he can't ride the bus. This won't work either:

"Mom, when I was a freshman I really gave this one senior a hard time for riding the bus. I was like 'why are you on the bus? Aren't you like 18? Why don't you drive to school? How about getting a job so you can buy a car?' Now I'm that senior riding the bus, with no job and no car of my own."

And, being the mean mom that I am, I had to point out the irony of his situation.

Again, our conversation left me laughing mercilessly at my poor son's dilemma. I even saw one corner of his mouth turn upward in what could almost be called half a smile. That boy of mine loves to push my buttons.

Yeah. I really look forward to the next five weeks. Watching my two offspring peacefully negotiate use of the third vehicle that is available for them to drive.

I suspect the excitement will only be surpassed by that of the spectators of the Roman Gladiator fights.

By May 23, the Coliseum will have nothing on us.

I, though, intend to remain calm and encourage my kids to "use their words" and "inside voices" as they come to a loving mutually agreeable arrangement.

All while sipping tequila and stabbing my eye with an ice pick.