Calmly praying

I'm not gonna lie, I fear for my life. Hubby thinks I'm over exaggerating but riding with a 15 year old new driver scares me to death. It's been over 9 months of riding with her and I just can't seem to calm down. As soon as I securely fasten my buckle and I watch her hand shift into gear, I stop breathing.

Just backing out of the driveway with her frightens me. Is she going to run into the basketball goal? Is she going to hit the trash can standing near the sidewalk? Is she going to run over my plants and landscaping? Or even worse, run over the poor neighbor that innocently but stupidly chose our sidewalk to walk their dog?

I ask her every time we back out of our driveway, did you check your mirrors? Did you look over your shoulder anyway to see if little kids are riding their bikes behind you or maybe a dog or cat? "Oh ya!" she always says but I know darn well I didn't see her head barely scan a mirror, nonetheless peer over her shoulder. But I can't yell or criticize, ya see. That just starts a conflict that puts us both in a mood that I don't want her or I to be in while behind the wheel of a moving vehicle. So ... instead, I have to act calm and not critical, but simply ask polite questions in a gentle voice.

But I admit, inside I'm half-freaking out. So, I pray. I pray leaving the driveway, I pray as we rip-roar out of our driveway backwards, almost slamming into the neighbors sidewalk and I pray as she straightens it out and peels off into the straightaway. Man, I hope He's listening and man, I pray He answers. I try to settle myself as she rolls through 4-way intersections with barely a glance at other directions. Since I just prayed seven times in the last two minutes, I should have faith He'll keep us safe, right?

Boy Howdy, I try, but it is almost impossible. After zipping around corners in perfect Dale Earnhardt fashion, I try to explain, using my most serene manner that smaller sport utility vehicles do have the tendency to tip over if one should, perhaps, fail to slow down at corners and that the speed limit signs that are posted pertain to primarily going straight and not corners. However, her response to any of my comments, whether they're stated calmly or not, are the same, "I got it, Mom!" Or the infamous, "You think I'm such a bad driver!"

So, last week I tried sitting in the backseat, thinking that might help me relax or if nothing else, not take a nice, fat airbag to the face if she plows into a parked vehicle. Wow! What a mistake that was! Sitting in the back, believe it or not, was even worse. It reminded me of riding in a taxi cab in Mexico. (A ride that I will never forget and still can't believe I survived.) Therefore, if given a choice, I will never be riding in the backseat with her driving ever again!

Anyway, when we do finally arrive at our destination, I breathe a huge sigh of relief and I try to praise her over and over on how well she did, but deep down, I'm thanking the Big Man upstairs for allowing us another trip without wrecking and with all of us intact. I'd hate to even know what my blood pressure is after our joy rides and I hope she never sees my expression as we scoot around town, teeth clenched, not breathing, heart pounding and squeezing the door handle so hard you could probably get my prints from it. One day I know it'll get better but right now, I'm happy to be alive and will continue to calmly pray every time I buckle up with Dale in the driver's seat.