Mine, ours, yours

A really strange thing happened the other day. I asked my son if I could drive my car. Once the words came out of my mouth, I stopped in my tracks and laughed.

When we first sold our massive suburban and bought my little silver car, the kids called it ‘Mom’s race car.’ Not that I raced. It just felt like I was tearing up a strip of asphalt each time I pulled away from the lights, compared to the ‘sub.’ I didn’t mean to screech my rally tires… I was just rusty at clutching and gear shifting. Anyways…

The years whipped by faster than snow melting in April and my older son was behind the wheel of my little car. It was easier than driving him places. It freed me up to do other things.

He and his older sister had to work out a plan for sharing my metallic baby, or else both be grounded from driving her. No blood was let and we hammered out a deal. They each got one weekend-day, as well as the times when they had to drive themselves to lessons and such. Otherwise, she was still my ride.

Turned out one of the two junior driver had a penchant for cleaning her, while the other didn’t. One stockpiled Starbucks cups and gum wrappers, while the other liked to scrub and polish my girl till she shone. Needless to say, my racer didn’t make the journey to college with the older, so she’s been pampered regularly by the younger one, the boy.

Some guys have a way with cars, don’t they?

My husband, the Builder, has been bugging our son since graduation, asking him when he’s moving out. Personally, I don’t mind him living at home and saving, taking out the garbage, washing my car, watching our young one, Mr. G., when we go out. I did nearly reconsider when he showed up at home with a new stereo which he promptly assembled in the basement and turned up to eardrum-bursting volume to test the bass. But still…

When my car needs gas, he fills her up. He just spent a whole Saturday morning sparkling her up. I needed to go somewhere, but he’d invested so much time and care into her, I felt kind of bad thinking about the spring thaw puddles that waited on the roads. Not clean puddles, either, but mucky puddles that would cling to her shine.

And I thought about how the young man had spent his morning working, after a full week of working, and he likely had plans to see some friends. Should I suddenly swoop in and snag my five-speed racer out from under him?

“Can I take my car, or do you need it?” I asked. A very weird feeling. The Proverb, ‘Diligent hands will rule,’ is a certainty. Thank goodness he’s buying his own wheels soon. Maybe he’ll still take my girl out for some gas once in a while.