254. Driving test (1/2)

 Here we are again. Sometimes I feel my life is going round in circles. Goldfish in a bowl? Hamster on a wheel? Round and round I go.

Miss Muddy-Boots is back home. Mission: driving licence. The motivation is high as she now needs a driving licence. She has to go places public transports cannot reach. Remote areas of difficult terrain where she can find rocks to peer at so she can use the special kind of hammer to knock bits off, then wrap them up and carry them back to the boot of the (so far imaginary) car and drive back to the labs or whatever it is they call the room where they peer and enthuse about bits of rocks.

'Hi! It's so lovely to have you back.' I say giving her a kiss and a big mummy hug.

'How many lessons have you managed to book for me?'

I freeze the welcome smile on my face and try not to strangle her.

She settles back in (raids the fridge, the cupboards and gets the washer and the dryer into overdrive. I say nothing. The driving licence a sword of Damocles over my head.

After the lessons, the conversations invariably go like this:

'How did it go?'

'OK.'

'Come on, how did it go?'

'Not so good. Not perfect. But ok.'

Then I get the details: went through an orange light, stalled at a stop sign, drove too fast, too slow, ... Yet I can see clearly that we're making progress: no pedestrians involved, no-one screaming for their lives inside the car and no-one making rude gestures at her. 

'She says it's fine, so don't worry mum! She says I can drive ok, it's just my trajectory.' She pauses. 'I have problems with my trajectory.'

'What does she mean by that? Trajectory?'

I'm puzzled. I mean she's not flying and having to stick to a trajectory. She's just got to follow the road!

'It means that I can't keep the trajectory right, when I turn I often hit the kerb and also I often drift towards parked cars.'

I keep quiet and say nothing. I am thinking she is making progress.

Inevitably the big day comes. One lesson in the morning, the test in the afternoon. 

'Can you make me a nice lunch please? I'm starving.'

Definitely a highly justified request. One cannot go for a driving test on an empty stomach. Especially our second daughter. We do not want her to lose complete control of the vehicle because hunger pangs made her look at a fast-food poster for a fraction of a second too long. Images of cars smashed up against giant panels advertising the perfect French fries start popping up in my mind.

'No problem. I'll make your favourite onion risotto. And I've got lovely chicken nems from my favorite butcher.'

I purposefully make no mention of the greens nor the salad nor the fresh fruit. Anything remotely upsetting could jeopardise the day's mission. We do not want that. We want to be supportive and helpful and positive.

'Nice lunch! Thanks mum. So nice ... I think I've eaten too much though!' 

This is nice to hear - especially today - as she has always been the fussiest kid in this house. But then I worry that she has eaten too much and that she will be drowsy in the car. I decide against coffee though. Her default setting is on hyper so that should balance nicely with the stuffed stomach.

Then she's off and I try to take my mind off things. And then as usual I manage it and have almost forgotten about it all when suddenly BANG the front door smashes open against the brick wall and the whole house shakes and trembles.