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My youngest son turned 16 a couple of months ago. He wasted no time getting his driver’s license. While I am excited about this milestone in his life, I lament the end of yet another chapter of motherhood. My husband and I decided he was ready to drive to school. To be totally transparent, my son and my husband embraced the concept wholeheartedly while I begrudgingly agreed. Instead of driving him to school and creeping along in the parent drop-off lane, I watch eagerly as he slowly reverses out of the driveway, fighting tears as the car disappears from my line of sight.
It’s not just being an overprotective mom, I also miss those sacred moments when it’s just the two of us in the car, chatting aimlessly about the serious as well as the mundane during those twenty minutes or so. We listened to the radio and provided commentary on pop culture and the latest celebrity antics. I got updates on the current project, anxiety about an upcoming test, or who blasted whom on social media recently. It was special, a few swatches of time with my youngest child, that meant the world to me.