What Should a Teenage Driver Never Do to her Mother?

 Question #1: What should a teenage drive never do to her fragile, stressed-out, and vertigo-challenged mother?

Answer:  Text her the following message while driving someone else's seven-year-old child. . . These brakes sound terrible!

To which the mother quickly replies. . . What do they sound like and where are you? . . . before running into the liquor store for a bottle of wine and some lottery tickets (which are really the only two remedies that the poor mother can think of when yet-another of the family's vehicles starts messing with her  already-bad car-ma. . .)

Question #2:  What is the next thing a teenage driver should never do?

Answer:  Proceed to call said mother while she's in the liquor store and not leave a voicemail  when the mother doesn't pick up.

Question #3:  And what is the third - and final - thing that same driver should never do????

Answer:  Not answer her phone or her text messages for the next forty-five minutes so that the mother will become frantic - visualizing both the teenager and her babysitting charge unconscious in a ditch somewhere and fretting over the lawsuit that would ensue for allowing the daughter to drive a unsafe vehicle while wondering how she could convince the jury that Roberta really was the prized car in the Spin family stable????


Question #4:  And what - I might ask - is the moral of the story?

Answer:  That  next time A Mom on Spin needs to find a drive-thru liquor store!

I Have Seen the Devil Himself. . or perhaps it was The Grinch . . but - wait - no, his face was definitely red, not green . . . .

So this weekend started out a little rough for me.

I was hemmed in.  Quite literally.

Attempting to leave the house early Saturday morning in advance of the big blizzard that hit much of the east coast, I discovered that one of the three Sleeping Beauties had parked her car directly behind my garage - a maneuver that I had cautioned her against no less than sixteen thousand times!. . . and the very one which she had been angry with her own sister for pulling just the previous day.

And so I decided to take her car. . . . wait. . .  let me rephrase that. . . I decided to take my car. .  . the car which my husband and I had purchased. .  . registered. . . paid the insurance on. . . .and put the gas into. . .  it's just that my daughters somehow feel like the car belongs to them. . .  because they named her. . . .like naming a car is akin to actual ownership. .  .


So as I turned the key in Roberta's ignition, I made a solemn promise to her that she - for once - would be treated with care and respect.  I also told her that she was in for the ride of her life . . . getting the chance to accompany A Mom on Spin on her errands as an emissary of good will. .  .

First, knowing that I was scheduled to deliver the monthly food from the Angel Food Ministries for my wheelchair-bound friends Meke and Dora, I was able to make a few extra stops in order to get them well-supplied before the big storm hit.

Next I stopped by work to check on the status of some parishioners in the hospital, where I chanced to encounter a very kind gentleman who had come to the church in order to donate a number of frozen turkeys and a single Christmas tree. And so Roberta and I set out around town once again to deliver the turkeys. . .  over to the senior citizen's housing . . .  back to Meke and Dora's . . . and on to other families who I thought might need and appreciate them.

Next, the Christmas tree.  I placed a call to Mr. Drip Dry and he came and tied that tree to the top of my car for me, and Roberta and I set out once again on a mission of mercy.

And the moment I drove away with that tree was the very moment that I - like my favorite character of all times, the Grinch - was suddenly filled with the Christmas Spirit. And as I drove along I found myself composing a little ditty that went something like this. . .

Forget fancy phones. . . and pricey black Uggs. . . 

iPods and downloads and Starbucks in mugs. . . 

Forget about concerts and money that's lost

memberships to the gym, and all that they cost.

Forget about tanning and under-aged drinking

overdraft charges and balances sinking!

For THIS is the stuff that God made Christmas for!

  Why I'm helping my friends. . . and  feeding the poor! 

Caring for those who are down on their luck

When this very morning, I thought I was stuck!
But you know the one thing I love best of all???

'Cause I took their car, they can't go to the Mall!

And so it was that I was filled with happiness as I came to rest at a traffic light and pulled out my phone in order to tell the lucky recipient that a tree was on its way to her home . . .when I saw that the gentleman in the car next to me had put down his window. . . probably to ask for directions, I thought. . . . and I quickly put down my passenger-side window - prepared to make a difference in yet-another lost soul's life that December morn. . .

And then I saw it.

His face was twisted and contorted into a fit of rage.

His complexion was as red as boiling lava.

His tongue was forked and spewing venom.

Get off that phone!

Excuse me? I queried. .  .


I said get off that G**-D****ed phone!

And as I continued to stare at him in disbelief . . . wondering when he would get to the real reason for the conversation . . . . he quickly hurled the ultimate insult at me before I had time to cover Roberta's delicate ears. . . .


You drive like sh**!!! he growled. . . and sped away.

And so it was that Roberta and I were left there - shuddering from our encounter with an entity of unknown origin.  Was it Scrooge?  The Grinch?  The Devil himself?

But it wasn't until I finally returned home and recounted the story to Veggie, that I was able to put the whole episode into perspective. . .  .  Oh, he was probably just an asshole! she said.

Oh yeah. . . assholes. . . for one blissful moment I had forgotten all about them. . . . 

Another Reason to Never Let a Teenage Daughter Drive. . . as if you needed another one. . .

Driving home from work earlier today, I thought to myself. . .  Self . . .you have absolutely nothing to blog about. . .

But then I got the mail.

And I quickly called the toll free number that was prominently displayed on the letter I opened. . .

_______________________

Me:  I just got a notice in the mail and I'm hoping you can clarify something for me.

Debt Collector:  Well first - even though you phoned in, Mam - I'm obligated to tell you that the conversation we are about to have qualifies as an attempt to collect a debt.   Do you understand?

Me:  Of course I understand!  I'm calling you, aren't I???   It says here that my "account" with the NY State Thruway has been placed in collections and I owe them/you $88.50?

Debt Collector: Yes, Mam, that's correct.

Me:  But this is the first I've heard of this.   I didn't even know I had an "account". Can you enlighten me?

Debt Collector: Now, let's see. . .  the first violation was on October 2, 2008. . . and the second  . . .

Me:  What does that mean, violation?  Speeding?  Was I speeding?  I live in Jersey! I don't even drive on the Thruway!

Debt Collector:  Not speeding, Mam.   EZ Pass. The vehicle went through the EZ Pass lane without a device.

Me:  But I have EZ Pass.


Debt Collector:  Well, I have the license plate right here. . . YEX 24P. . .is that your car?

Me:   Oh. . . it's one of my daughters' cars. . .

Debt Collector:  Well did she have a device in her car?

Me:  An EZ Pass device?  Knowing her, probably not.  But I'm sure she had her cell phone. . . and her iPod. . . .and her Tom Tom. . . she never leaves home without them. . .

Debt Collector:  Well, that's nice, Mam, but as I said, the next violation was two days later.  Tappen Zee Bridge again.  And the third. . .

Me:  Never mind. I get the picture. . . .but why so much money?

Debt Collector:   It was $4.50 for the toll and a $25 penalty for each of the violations.

Me:  But why didn't I know about this?  Those so-called violations were a full year ago?  Did you send prior notification??  Was my daughter confiscating it in the mail or something?

Debt Collector:  Mam, I'm just the debt collector.  They don't give me that sort of information.

Me:  I understand.  I'm just their mother.  And they don't give me that sort of information either.  What will it take to pay you off?

Debt Collector:  I'm authorized to settle with you for 75% of the debt, Mam, with an $8 processing fee, so that comes to $75.

Me:  Do you take credit cards?

And, as any good Debt Collector would answer:  We sure do!

and in case you're wondering. . .  yes, I feel a tad-bit violated myself tonight. . .

It's Just Me, Here . . . on Vacation . . . Suffering from a Few Syndromes. . .

So driving over the bridge yesterday to get to the liquor store (because Exit 25 is a DRY town - which simply means that all inhabitants must drive to the mainland in order to purchase alcohol and bring it back) my husband suddenly switched lanes and I let out a little Yelp!

You're easily frightened you know, he said to me.

No Shit, Sherlock! I replied. That's because I suffer from TDSS!

What on earth is that?

Teenage Daughter Stress Syndrome . . . and you already know that!

Now, my husband is well-aware of the fact that I suffer from this well-documented ailment. The trouble is that its symptoms have been . . . let's say . . . a wee-bit more apparent during this vacation week because some of the stresses have been out of the ordinary. . . you know. . . the kind that don't always crop up at home. . .

Take - for instance - the drive here.

The ever-plotting Ponzi wanted to prove to her parents that she could negotiate the two hour drive to The Shore by herself (ammunition for a not-so-distant argument, no doubt) and so we let her drive us in the minivan. Because my husband called shotgun before I did, the dog and I were relegated to the back seat.

I'm proud to say that the dog didn't scream once.

I can't - however - say the same for the other back seat driver. . .

Or how about Trigger's drive down by herself to meet us on Sunday evening?

Trig. . . you seemed to get here in record time. How fast were you driving???

Oh. . . I don't like to look at the speedometer when I'm driving, she answered me. It makes me nervous. I just pick a car and then I pass them. Then I pick another car and pass that one. . .

Could someone please remind me just who it was that taught this child how to drive????

And then there's the dreaded beach.

I used to like the beach until the fateful day that Veggie and Trigger almost drowned. And I used to tolerate the beach until the day I had to go out and rescue Trigger and two of her friends from a raging rip tide.

Now I go to the beach only when required by law.

Besides, would you want to sit next to your scantily-clad teenage daughters when their only beach reading consists of The Hot Issue of Cosmopolitan - whose cover boasts of the following hot topics . . . The Orgasm Whisperer - Every Woman Needs One! . . . or how about . . . Guys Rate 125 Sex Moves. . . or perhaps . . . What You Should Never Let Your Gyno Do. . . or . . . Secrets His Sex Style Reveals . . . .

Now I am dangerously close to turning the big Five-O, my friends, and this is the first time I have ever heard that guys actually had sex styles! Oh, I knew all about the Orgasm Whisperer (What??? You mean you don't have one???) and the sex moves. . . but I never knew about men's sex styles. I may have to steal that issue when they're not looking. . .

I even got fooled by the title of one article which read, Five Things That Can Blow a Job Interview. (Can't imagine why - in heaven's name - my mind wandered to the gutter on that one. . .)

And so you see that when - like me - you suffer from TDSS, vacation is not all fun and games, my friends. . . . not all fun and games. . .

And the only known cure?

Well that brings us full circle back to the purpose of that drive over that bridge. . .

Oh. . . and it seems that even the dog is as stressed as I am - for she is suffering from SPS (Safe Potty Syndrome) and can't find an acceptable place to do her business (as we call it) and so insists on dropping it a turd at a time as she walks . . . imagine trying to look all beachy, cool and sophisticated while stopping to pick that up every third or fourth step. . .

Don't you wish that life were a tad easier at times????

Dear Mr. Rotten Auto Mechanic

Dear Mr. Guy-Who-Was-Supposed-to-Fix-My-Car;

I know it's only Wednesday, but I can't wait until Friday to complain.

So, Mr. Guy-Who-Was-Supposed-to-Fix-My-Daughters'-Car-Which-They-Fondly-Named-Roberta . . . when I paid you $400 to repair the car, I foolishly assumed that you had actually fixed the cause of the stalling, and so thought I would be safe to leave my trusty 1999 White Ice Minivan home for a change. . . especially when I was was meeting a few friends for drinks on the town.

Little did I know that - after three glasses of wine - your suckiness-at-auto-repairship would rear its ugly head and I would become stranded at a traffic light with a stalled car.

If it were not for my excellent survival skills, Mr. Rip-Off-Who-Poses-as-an-Auto-Mechanic-Guy, I might have been in some serious trouble . . . for I can see it now. . . Yes, Officer. . . I just found out that this car is four months overdue for inspection. . . and Yes, Officer. . . I've had a few glasses of wine. . . but, don't worry, it was happy hour. . . and that means they were only filling my glasses halfway. . . so it's really only like I've had a glass and a half. . . and No, Officer, I don't have Triple A, because I let that lapse. . . if you could see the bills I have to pay. . . . and No, Officer, I can't call my husband to come pick me up 'cause he's away on a church trip with my daughters. . .and I'm left home here all alone on my perfect week. . . which . . . of course . . . did not include cars breaking down and threats of blowing wine breath into your breathalizer . . .and that. . .Officer. . . is the truth. . . the whole truth. . .and nothing but the truth. . . so help me, God. . .and speaking of God. . . did I tell you I work for a church?????

And - even though I narrowly escaped that fate by keeping my foot on the accelorator at all times - let me just warn you here and now Mr. Nuts-and-Struts-for-Brains, you have not only pissed me off, but have alienated the Car Gods as well. . . . for when my daughters get home from their mission trip to Appalachia, I'm going to set them loose on you, and you better run fast 'cause rumor has it that now they know how to use a nail gun!

Dear Car Gods

It's Friday, so it must be time for another episode of Dear So and So. . . thunk up by Kat at 3 Bedroom Bungalow. Go visit her to read some other fascinating correspondence. . . .

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Car Gods,

Please excuse me for not knowing your names, but - from my limited understanding of ancient mythology - I'm assuming you must be fairly new to the scene. Oh. . . and I'm also assuming that you must be gods in the plural sense, for no mere god could keep track of my daughter's comings and goings. . . .

Anyway. . . I am writing to you because my little family unit is in very poor automotive health at the present time.

As you probably know, our dear Roberta - after having been stranded in a stranger's driveway all last week while Veggie left for parts unknown, only to return and whisk her up and down the Northeast Corridor for the next three days - has suffered from a breakdown (we think she's a bit of the nervous type. . . but, you know, who wouldn't be traumatized in the hands of my daughters? I refuse to even get in the car when they're driving. . . I can't imagine being the instrument by which they . . . I can say no more. . . ) So, poor Roberta got towed away last night and has been hospitalized for the long holiday weekend until a mechanic shows up on Monday morning to help her.

Which leaves my three daughters to argue over Percy.

Now, Percy may look smart because of all of the cousins' pricey college stickers on the windshield (which came with him at the time of purchase) but even Percy does not have an advanced degree in mediation. And I'm afraid that our poor little Toyota Camry has been witness to some pretty mean-spirited carjacking in the past few days, as the battles between Ponzi and Trigger have escalated to new heights. (Oh. . . and, by the way Car Gods, if you ever see Ponzi's boyfriend. . . you know. . . the one with his right arm in a sling from the broken collarbone. . . driving one of our cars again, could you please eject him quickly from the driver's seat before my husband finds out and ensures that his other arm is place in a sling as well????)

Now where was I?

Well, if the story Ponzi tells me was correct. . . some nice police officer (perhaps the very same one who helped tow Roberta away???) informed her yesterday that Percy had a flat tire and, wasn't it lucky that Ponzi's boyf happened to be in the car 'cause he put air in the tire for her - averting yet another automotive disaster????

But, let me tell you Car Gods, after two chance encounters with police officers yesterday, it's a damn good thing that neither of them saw me driving White Ice.

Now, after looking around for someone to blame for my minivan's current dilemma, I've pointed the finger squarely at the New Jersey Division of Motor Vehicles who dared to have their on-line site "under construction" during the long holiday weekend. Now I ask you. . . how else are slackers like me supposed to renew their 1999 Dodge Grand Caravan's registration which expired on June 30th? Don't they know that I always procrastinate, renewing on line three days late and then printing the receipt, carrying it around in my glove compartment to say Here officer, I really did renew it. . . I just haven't gotten the actual card yet. . . See ??? And what's worse. . . this year's debacle includes a little state inspection that hasn't been performed and whose little "6/2009" sticker is sitting in the corner of my windshield for every police officer from here to eternity to see. . .

Oh my!

So here we are, Car Gods, on a long holiday weekend . . . with five licensed drivers in the house. . . forced to share 1 and 3/4 cars (I guess three out of four tires aren't bad. . . Oh. . . and did I tell you . . . my husband doesn't really like to "share" his Jeep. . . so much so, that it doesn't even rate a name. . . it's just referred to as Dad's Car. . . )

But will you be smiling on me on Monday, Car Gods, when - having already waved goodbye to Ponzi, Trigger and my husband on Sunday as they leave for a service trip to Appalachia - I drop Veggie off at the airport to depart for the UK and return home (all alone!!!) and have four cars to choose from for the remainder of the week?????

I hope so! Oh, I hope so!!!!

Roberta's bad day

I’ve come to the conclusion that the only thing worse than being the mother of a teenage girl is to be that same teenager’s car. Of course, you already know that my daughters name their cars (may Zack rest in peace) but do they really show respect for them? Let me introduce you to some of the trials and tribulations endured on just one day in the life of their next car, Roberta:

7:50 a.m. – The oldest daughter drives Roberta to the train station to catch a train into the city for the day. She leaves a tad bit on the late side, and despite the mother’s offers to drop her off on her way to work, swears she’ll be fine. After circling the commuter parking lot, Roberta ends up parked on a neighborhood side street under a sign that reads, 2 Hour Parking Only – All Others Will Be Towed Away.
9:25 a.m. – Nonetheless, Roberta is somewhat surprised when the responsible mother figure arrives and moves her off that side street (for there have been countless other instances where Roberta has been left under similar circumstances.) Noticing, thankfully, that the daughter has been driving on fumes, the responsible mother figure brings her to the nearest gas station and spends yet more of her precious work time and $65 in hard-earned cash to fill Roberta’s gas tank.

9:35 a.m. – Refreshed and renewed, it’s back to the commuter lot again where Roberta has her choice of parking spaces, and the mother attempts to wrestle with the “pay to park” machine at the station. Roberta watches as the mother inserts $5 for a $3 fee, pushes a few buttons, and the machine spits out a receipt declaring that, despite the money deposited, she has no time assigned to her. Then she watches as the mother almost loses her debit card to the very same hungry machine.

And so, Roberta doesn’t blame the mother at all when she displays the lost $5 receipt in a prominent place on her windshield, grabs the full cup of (now iced) coffee that her daughter stopped for along the way and promptly forgot (time she could have used to find a parking place, no doubt) and trudges back to her own car which she left on that side street a good half-mile away on the other side of the station.

Time Unknown – Roberta is disappointed to see a member of the parking authority put a ticket on her windshield despite the best efforts of the mother.

8:05 p.m. – The daughter comes to reclaim the car, sees the parking ticket, mumbles something under her breath, tosses the ticket on the back seat, plugs in her iPod, and proceeds to begin driving to her friend’s house.

8:09 p.m. – Roberta comes to an abrupt stop when a car with flashing lights appears behind her. She watches anxiously as the daughter rifles through the Dunkin Donut napkins in the glove compartment looking for her insurance card and registration. No luck. She hears the officer tell the daughter that she is lucky that he’s only giving her a ticket for a broken taillight and not the $180 ticket for the missing registration.

8:10 p.m. – Although she knows it’s not her fault, Roberta feels somewhat responsible for all that she has clearly been lacking this day–gas in her tank, adequate parking fees, working taillight, missing documentation. The daughter, however, seems to only be angry at the officer and so Roberta and the daughter proceed on to meet the daughter’s friends.

10:52 p.m. – When, after an exhausting day, Roberta finally returns to her own driveway, she hears the daughter tell the responsible mother figure that the other licensed daughter must have been pulled over and not told her parents, for where else would that missing documentation have gone to? For some reason the mother believes her story and goes looking for that other daughter.

But alas, Roberta knows that the last time those cards were used was at the scene of this daughter’s last accident–an accident, by the way, that still had Roberta missing her front bumper.

A letter to the guy on the Allstate ads

Dear Mr. Guy on the Allstate Ads,

For some strange and unknown reason, my husband has been on a two-day mission to lower our car insurance rates.

In listening to your television commercials, I notice that you boast about a policy you call Accident Forgiveness.

Question for you. . .

Does the term Accident refer to our daughters' driving records? Or is it, by chance, referring to our obvious lack of family planning in having three drivers in the "high-risk" category together???

Because if it's the former, that's great.

But, if you plan to somehow take mercy on us for having Trigger and Ponzi so close together, I love you!

Because we all know that Accidents Happen, I am. . .

p.s. Do you think you could pass your Accident Forgiveness policy on to the owners of J. Crew and Hollister - along with Presidents of all colleges on the East Coast????

Just wondering. . .

Friday Night Fights

First a few housekeeping items to get us started . . .

Thanks to all who tried to help me with my earlier technical difficulties. Whatever the source of the viewing problem, it seems to now be resolved. . . . Phew!!!

And thanks to Angela at Hanging with Mrs. Cooper for featuring me on her blog yesterday. Too bad it happened to be a day when half of the world's population couldn't see my blog, but what did we expect for Friday the 13th???

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So, as I told you yesterday, Ponzi got her driver's license.

That means that all three of my daughters are now driving.

And while I can't help but rejoice in the fact that I will never, ever, never, for the rest of all eternity, never-ever be required to drive another daughter to the mall, a friend's house, or the movies!!!!!!!!!! the prospect of having another driver in the house is a tad bid scary.

This makes five drivers in a household with four cars. And I have a strange feeling that the addition of this new driver will give a new meaning to the term Friday Night Fights - for not all of our cars are considered "Teenager Friendly". Since my daughters have taken the time to name our cars, it's only proper that I introduce you to them. . .

Roberta: A very thirsty 2001 Jeep Liberty who is the proud survivor of two accidents. Roberta currently calls our driveway home (that is, until I phone the house from in front of the neighbor's to tell a daughter to move Roberta back out to the street so I can access my garage.)

Percy: A sweet, but oil-burning, green Toyota Camry (circa 1996) with about 110,000 spins-around-the-block under her belt and my nieces and nephews' smart college stickers already on the back windshield. If you can somehow get over the feeling that we are a family of impostors, you might think the driver came from a half-way intelligent family. Percy currently resides with my college-aged daughter on the beach in Connecticut (when, of course, she's not running up and down the Eastern seaboard on weekends. . . )

White Ice: My 1999 Plymouth Grand Voyager who proudly sports three hubcaps, a perpetually broken passenger window, and a rather finicky brake light.

Husband's Car: For some unknown reason, this 2000 Jeep Grand Cherokee is off-limits to all other drivers in the household, and so - consequentially - my daughters do not think he warrants his own name and the other cars in the stable think he's snobby.

So, as you can guess, there will be a bit of competition for Roberta's attention until Trigger goes to college.


Girls, I beg you! Could you please go easy on poor Roberta???? In the four years we have owned her, she has been subject to more abuse than any good car should be - missing documentation. . . broken taillights. . . painful cigarette burns. . . unfair parking tickets . . . costly illegal turns. . . crumpled license plates . . . and spilled lattes - it's clear to me that she needs you to give her a well-deserved "brake" from time to time!

And how about White Ice? Why must you shun her so???? She was good enough to you two girls when you needed to cart your little friends home from birthday parties and Irish dancing classes - now wasn't she? And Trigger? What about that Memorial Day weekend when you almost went into shock from the frigid water temperature at the shore . . . didn't her heater stick with you until your teeth stopped chattering? And, Ponzi? Do you remember who safely delivered you to the ER when you had appendicitis??? And who rescued you both from the big city this past summer - walk of shame and all???? White Ice - that's who!!!

Do you really think these cars need to be witnesses to your Friday Night Fights - and all of the screaming, kicking, and hair-pulling it entails????

I think not.

So girls, make sure you do your squabbling in the house from now on. Not in front of the kids. . . okay???

Watch out world. . . Ponzi's on the loose!

It's Friday the 13th. . . Do you know where your blog is???

I don't!

Oh yes, I can sign in to Blogger. I can view my dashboard. I can "preview" my blog. But when I try to "View" my blog, I'm dead!!!

And people, I'm just trying to warn you all that Ponzi girl is on the loose!

Even though she's been sick with the flu all week, and even though it's Friday the 13th, Ponzi passed her driver's license today, and Trigger agreed to let her use the car tonight, and I just felt that I needed to shout to all within earshot, Watch Out! Ponzi is driving a 2001 Jeep Liberty (you know, the one with the stapled-on license plate, super-glued front bumper, and 4-year-old dent in the rear passenger door. . . the car affectionately known as "Roberta" in our household??? ) and she just may be headed to a town near you!

So - please - if you see her, just get out of her way!

Quickly!!!!!

Roberta will thank you for it.

But my voice has been quieted. My words of warning are falling on deaf ears. My freedom of speech has been cruelly snatched from me!

And if you chance to encounter her, dear readers, please don't blame me. I tried to warn you.

I did!

p.s. And you might want to watch out for Trigger who is driving a 1999 Plymouth Minivan (affectionately known as "White Ice") for she just might be prone to road rage tonight. . .

The most annoying person ever!!!

Permit Girl (whispering): Do I have to go driving with Dad?

Me (Whispering back for no apparent reason): If you want to get your license, you do.

Permit Girl: Why? He's the most annoying person ever!

Me: What???

Permit Girl: He's the most annoying person ever!!!! I want you to teach me how to drive.

Me: Well I want your father to teach you how to drive, and he wants to take you now. . . so you better get going.

Permit Girl: Can't you take me instead?

Me: No, I'm busy.

Permit Girl: Well then I'll go with you tomorrow.

Me: No you won't.

Permit Girl: Why not???

Me: Because I only have four Xanax left in my prescription bottle, and I'm not wasting one on you!

Permit Girl: Please! Please!!! Please!!!!!

Me: No! No! No!!!!

Permit Girl: I'm not going with him.

Me: Then you won't get your license in two weeks

Permit Girl: You're soooooooo annoying! You're the most annoying person ever!!!!

Me: I thought Dad was the most annoying person ever????


Permit Girl: (Well, you can imagine the look. . . . .)

A second letter to my "better half"

Dear Drip Dry,

Thank you for your timely response in attempting to teach Ponzi how to drive.

But perhaps, my love, I was not as clear as I could have been in my last letter to you on the subject. . .

When I requested that you teach our third (and final) daughter how to drive, I was envisioning tutorials in some of the finer arts of driving . . . you know. . . things like K-turns and parallel parking. I was not, my dear, thinking that she would simply drive her older sister's car to Starbucks so that you (and she) could use that ten dollar gift card that had been burning a hole in your pocket since Christmas.

Now, with all due respect, I have to ask you. . .

What in Heaven's name were you thinking????? Good God! That car could drive itself to Starbucks with a blindfold on! In fact, I'm quite sure there's a autopilot setting. . . just push the button that says Coffee!

I don't mean to find fault in your efforts, my love, but you were clearly duped. (Don't fret over your lack of common sense, you Stanford graduate. . . she's fooled quicker thinkers than you. She is - indeed- a smooth operator, that permit girl!)

So now I humbly request that you pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and re-double your efforts to teach her how to drive . . . for real this time.

With all wishes for your future success, I remain. . .

p.s. Those paper Starbucks cups are disposable, even if they do have that cozy sleeve to protect your delicate hands. You can throw it away now. . .

As always, I'm just saying. . .

A letter to my "better half"

Dear Drip Dry,

I have one small favor to ask of you.

Could you teach Ponzi how to drive????

I know that she is our third and last daughter. . . and I know I've taught the other two. . . but I'm just not up to it! My jaw clenching skills aren't what they used to be. . . . the blindfold I ordered hasn't arrived yet . . . that muzzle is just damned uncomfortable in this cold weather. . . and you know I suffer from motion sickness - especially when I'm curled up like a baby in the back seat!

Could you do it?

Would you???

Her behind the wheel test is scheduled for three weeks from yesterday - but don't worry, she's a fast learner.

Affectionately signed,

p.s. Before you take her for that test you had better re-attach the license plate that fell off the front of the car when Veggie crashed into the snow bank.

Just saying . . . .

Permit girl has a birthday!

It's permit girl's 17th Birthday today.

And, yes, she should have gotten her driver's license today. . . but, no, her mother did not get those behind-the-wheel lessons for her on time despite the number of times permit girl asked her to. . . and so, no, she hasn't had her permit for the required six months . . . so, no, she won't take her test until February. . . And, yes, she wants to get her nails done with her oldest cousin. . . and, yes, she might be able to fit in lunch with the rest. . . and, no, she can't go see Marley and Me with them . . . (and, yes, the movie thing was her mother's idea) because, she needs to go into the city with her friends . . . and, Oh No!, when will she see her boyfriend in all this??? . . . Well she supposes that, yes, she can see him when she gets home from the city. . . and, yes, maybe he can even pick her up at the train station. . . And come to think of it, yes, it was a good idea that her mother made the family sing Happy Birthday to her with a cupcake at dinner last night. . . even though, no, their wasn't a candle to be found in the house. . . and, no, her mother hasn't purchased a birthday present for her. . . (except for those boots permit girl bought herself while Christmas shopping) . . . and, no, they don't count!!! . . . and, yes, she wants a pea coat like the one she "borrowed" from her friend until she had to literally rip it off of her back . . . but, no, she doesn't want the one from J. Crew. . . so, yes, Daughter Number One will have to shop for it to make up for coming home at 4:38 a.m. . . . and, consequentially no, the birthday girl's mother Didn't sleep a wink all night!!!

The things a teenage daughter sleeps with

Do you remember when your daughter was but a wee-little-lass and you tucked her into bed with her favorite stuffed animals?

Oh, we had Suzie the hurricane-hair doll, Beethoven the giant St. Bernard, and Villanova Bear who was left in a Philadelphia hotel room one sad Thanksgiving weekend.

But have you ever peeked into your teenager's bedroom while she is sleeping? (I know it's hard - but try setting your alarm for 4:00 a.m. and take a gander. . . ) The first thing you will notice is a certain glow from your daughter's cell phone - proving that she has sent, or received, a text within the last five minutes. Are you surprised? I recently spent the night in a hotel room with my two teenage daughters and I now have concrete evidence that my daughters text in their sleep!

But I was surprised last week to find out what else my daughter sleeps with. (Don't get all excited here. . . I said What not Who!!!!)

As many of you know by now, I have been diagnosed with a nomadic sleeping disorder. And last week, when my college-aged daughter was home for the night, I heard the garage door open at 2:00 a.m. I knew that when I went to bed this particular daughter was doing laundry, and so my first thought was: I bet that her thong got caught up in the spinning device again and she had to take a trip to the all-night laundromat. And so I hopped out of bed to check, and found Daughter Number One sound asleep in her bed.

Now, years ago I would have awakened my sleeping husband to tell him that I distinctly heard the garage door open. I then would have stayed in bed, with my hand on the phone ready to dial 9-1-1 , as he investigated the scene.

But that, my friends, was years ago when my children were young and I still thought we had something to defend. Last week, I took one look at that sleeping beauty and thought, What will he do that I can't? and headed straight to the garage where the light still shining (just like those cell phones) revealed what I already knew - that garage door had been opened, or closed, within the last two minutes.

Next, I turned my attentions to the outside of the house. . . turning on every outside light and peering out the windows. . . when I heard a faint, Mom? coming from Daughter Number Two's bedroom.

Quick as a flash, I ran there, just in time to hear her say. . . . In case you're wondering, I rolled over on my car keys and heard the garage door open and so I shut it again.

Yes, my daughter proudly sleeps with her car keys.

And, after that little episode , I Didn't sleep a wink! the entire night!

Welcome to our new car

My family has owned a new car for two weeks now.

Well, I don't know that a 1998 Toyota Camry purchased from a brother-in-law (with a 130,000 spins around the block under its belt) qualifies as "new" but it's new to our driveway anyway.

And the best part? It came with all of the cousins' smart college stickers still on the back windshield so everyone will assume that the driver of the car is near-brilliant.

That is, of course, until they see the actions of the driver, who has already destroyed the rear tire by taking a turn too quickly and broken the driver's side lock and key when trying to park and run.

I'm crossing my fingers and hoping for the best for _____________.

Oh no! We forgot to name it!

Could you help by voting in the poll at right????