My Blanken World

My world of boys, textiles and moving.

Driving me crazy! November 7, 2015

Filed under: Boys,Family,Homeschooling,Hubby,What's happening — blankenmom @ 11:38 pm
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teen-driver

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I’ve already stated that I now have the middle two children in drivers-ed/teaching them to drive.  And I realize when I say this, that this statement doesn’t sound all that threatening.  However, when you put two hormonal children behind the wheel of not just a little car, but a big ‘ol mini-van, things get a bit interesting.

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I was also explaining to a friend the other day how I was a bit thrown off by the fact that I’m not constantly fielding raging text messages from people stealing from me, scheduling repairs, and court dates.  Something that consumed over 3 years of our lives, in various forms.  24/7.  I know, very Pavlovian of me that every time a text message comes in my stomach sinks, we’re working on it!  The fact that I’m not being “yelled” at several times an hour has left a strange void.  Albeit a nice void, but oddly you get used to even stupid things.  And I’m finding that I’m not sure what to do with myself.  No worries, my dentist man has made sure I’m kept busy with renovation tasks to “help”.  This same friend, making sure she was fulfilling her duties, was nice enough to begin insulting me so I didn’t feel unloved.  Good to know I can count on her when the chips are down – but in the absence of true disdain –

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Enter my children.

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I now remember, not just my first-born learning, but also myself.  That nervousness of having really no clue what you’re doing and wielding tonnage, with what seems like no help from your co-pilot.

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*Insert dirty looks*

“Well telling me after wasn’t very helpful now was it?”

“That’s just a stupid rule!”

“I know mom!”

“Could you just not, please!”

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You laugh, but if you think back, you know you did the same thing.

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So literally (and I mean literally) every time I go somewhere that my children can go with me, they are there.  Driving.  And cursing my name in their best 15 and 17-year-old, homeschooled profanities.

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Gosh boys – thank you for filling that void in my life!  I was wondering what I’d do without being told I suck on a daily basis.  And yes, you’re welcome for paying for lessons, and/or teaching you how to drive.  Yes I could have had the one in drivers-ed pay for it, but since they can’t get jobs in this area, that seemed pretty cruel.  Please no messages about that part.  Well, heck, never mind.  I have enough people poo-pooing me, go for it!  

Plus, this almost guarantee’s they’ll be able to leave my house once they turn 18!

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I would like to state however that my best curse word to fly yet has been fricking!  I know, you’re impressed with that kind of language!  Between turning left at 20 mph (about 32 kph google says), and nearly hitting the curb with my just-put-on snow tires, I wasn’t messing around!  This also happened to be the first time my dentist man has driven with one of these two.  After his mini-me was somewhat safely delivered to his drivers-ed class, I asked him how he did in the back seat and he only had to close his eyes a few times.  Not too bad there third-born!

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To add to this awesome experience, they’re each going through their own phases of hormonal changes.  (For mom’s of girls out there scratching their heads at this comment – yes boys still go through hormonal changes.  A lot less screaming and crying, a lot more “chest thumping” with a wee bit of anger rolled in, but not before the flighty-as-a-bird stage that I’m pretty sure girls do to?  Maybe?  I hope so – I would hate for you to miss out on this experience!)

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While the fourth-born completely hit the flighty stage at 13 – nice of him to stay on schedule, the third-born, I thought, was going to miss it, but ohp – nope!  He turned 15 and it totally hit!  Right as we start to teach him how to drive!  Maybe he could do me the favor of skipping over the angry phase then?  And the 17-year-old, as I’ve already experienced with the first-born, knows all, and doesn’t need his parents for anything.  He’s already a man and insert chest thumping is ready for the real world!  Bahaha… oh.  Ahem…

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Yes we’ve already gone through this.  You just sort of back up and wait.  They turn 18 and amazingly they need you again… or at least your money.  And then… your advice.  Especially when they realize that you really *have* done this already and maybe… possibly… might know what you’re talking about… slightly.

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Between the two, I have one that can’t remember to head check, turn their blinker on, and which pedal is which.  And another who thinks he should be able to bi-pass this whole process and just get his license already, in spite the fact that I keep hearing “I’ve never seen that before, that’s just not normal!” and “Why didn’t you tell me that faster!”.

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This too shall pass.  *Insert zen pose here*  It’s because we love our children so much that we go through all this craziness, and if I survive their driving, I know I’ll survive just about anything.  But in the mean time, they’re driving me straight to crazy, leaving me on the curb, to wait for their younger brother to send me right over the cliff.

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~Serenity ~

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Freaky Friday October 24, 2015

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This Friday was a bit more eventful for me than most.

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Every week day morning is usually the same, like most peoples, while the rest of the day usually goes wherever it decides, but usually pretty laid back.  Friday started out pretty normal.  Get up, take second-born to his tech class, come home.  Take the dogs out, bible study, shower, yadda, yadda, yadda….

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Once I left to go pick him back up, that’s when things got weird.  At the end of our collective driveway, at the bottom of the hill, there are several tree’s blocking the view left and right and another dirt road, with a “major” street between.  To the right is a rather large, sharp corner.  As I slow down and approach the cross street to turn left, a car from the right *literally* flies passed me.

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When I say *fly* here, I mean, it was about 20 – 30 ft off the ground, and going right towards the top of the power pole across from me.  The driver’s side of the car takes out the top of the power pole, flips right-side-up and the two drop to the ground.  Having cleared the fence around the hay field on both sides, the car sat there, smoking and sad.  Parts dropped around it, tires squashed and pushed out, and the top mushed flat.

After my initial shock at what just happened, and my exclamation of “HOLY SHITZPA” (apparently I become Jewish when in shock?), I begin calling 911.

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Cars are now starting collect to make sure everything is alright and that no one drives through the now downed power lines.  Amazingly, the guy opens the door and walks out.  *He walks out!*  Not even a scratch!  I watched this car do two flips in the air and drop from the height of a power pole, and not a scratch on him!

Having gotten the call in to the police, and see that he is fine, and taken care of, I ask permission to go get my son.  After telling my husband once we got home, we realize that they way the corner comes around, he should have landed exactly where I stopped when I saw him flying.  Some way or another, after he hurled around the corner, instead of going straight to the left as he should have, his car flew off to the right, into a pole instead.

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I was feeling very lucky, safe, and protected.

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So hey, why not take your sons out for a drive?  Sure, why not!

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I’m on my second and third driver.  I’m “seasoned” at this point.  No problem.  Except that the second-born likes to go fast… in our mini-van.  And the third-born seems to just not have the knack for this whole driving thing.  The first two seemed to get it, short of a minor few “Don’t pull out in front of them again” moments.  My third-born just doesn’t have this.  When taking him out, I feel more like I’m in a National Lampoon movie.  Herky-jerky, grabbing the steering wheel to save on coming traffic, a few tears – usually his, and mystified at how one can’t turn a corner without tipping?  However, he is progressing.

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Our drive was to and from the tutor’s.

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The second-born get’s to drive to the neighborhood she lives in because he’s ready to be out with other people now.  But as we pass the police officer going 10 miles over the speed limit, I hear “Oh crap – I should probably slow down?”  Ya think?  And no, you slamming on the breaks wasn’t noticeable at all by him.  *rolls eyes*  And then proceeds to speed back up to round the corner with those lovely squealing noises he thinks are requirement for good drivers..  “It wasn’t *that* fast mom!”

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*Switch*

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It’s the third-born’s turn now.  He does great through the neighborhood, ok, good… well, we didn’t hit anything, until we get to the cul-de-sac.  It’s gravel.  At the top of a hill.  And facing the sun.  We progress around the turn, the whole time with me telling him to slow, Slow, SLOW!  I realize we’re already sliding sideways on the gravel and now have three options: Slam into a cement and metal electrical box, taking out everyone’s power and the front of the car.  Go over the side of smallish cliff.  Or go hurdling down the street at breakneck speed, taking out a few cars and possibly a house.

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Lovely.

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I go to grab the steering wheel to attempt control of the car (parents don’t get a break pedal) and take the closest, safest option, when he finally figures out the break pedal.

Don’t get me wrong – I love a good cookie in the car.  One that’s planned, not near a steep drop off and not when death is an option.

We finally slide to a stop, now on our second turn of the cul-de-sac.  I turn to look at his brothers in the seats behind us and their eyes were the size of cookie we just made in the gravel.  Not a word was said.  Silence.  I turn to the third-born to calmly *I swear* explain the difference between slamming on the breaks – causing sliding, and gently slowing.  Neither of which mattered I guess, since he was actually pressing on the gas for most of it.  Only hitting the break at the very end, sending us into our final, glorious tail spin.

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Very much, not my day.

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We turn the car towards home, looking down the hill we’re about to go down, and take a collective deep breath in hopes that the third-born get’s the whole idea of going slowly.

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Oh, but we’re not home-free yet.  We still have to pass through the electrical repairs from the earlier wreck.

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They have flaggers out controlling the traffic.  In my homeschooling, drivers-ed mind I think “What an excellent learning moment!”  (Apparently I have lost my blooming mind!)  We wait for the first of the three flaggers to tell us we can go.  We pass all the electrical trucks no problem and I tell him to “Eek out into the street.”  Eek is a technical term for “Don’t peel out” btw.  

We “eek” up to the stop sign, no problem.  And that’s when the two other flagger’s, left and right, tell us we can proceed, which ever way we’re going to go.  I tell him “Go.”  Nothing.  Flagger’s begin to wave more emphatically.  “Go!”  He slowly rolls forward.  Flagger’s are about to lose their arms as they fling them wildly as cars are piling up in all three directions.  “Son GO!”  He peels out on the gravel, spraying the workers behind us with rocks, making a small squeal as we crossed the paved road on to our drive, where he is now spraying the other two flagger’s with gravel from our side.

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*sigh*

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A glass of wine is acceptable on a Friday early afternoon right?

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Not feeling like we should end that way, I let the other two boys out at the house and take another quick trip around our property, to let him end on a positive note.

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If you don’t hear from me next week, it’s because I’ve died.  Either from a plunge off of a cliff, a mail box impaling, or fright from no break pedal of my own.

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teen-driver

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In all, we ended safe and sound, and knowing what we’re going to work on for the next week.  My freaky Friday left me feeling very blessed that my guardian angel is, in fact, faster than my teenagers.

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