The day you realize your title of "Mommy" has been demoted to "Mom" is the day you hand over your car keys to the teenager standing in front of you.
My 15-year-old daughter, Allison bulldozed through the front door, jumping and skipping around the dining room table, squealing "I passed! I got it Mom! I can DRIVE now!". Her father saunters in behind her with a Cheshire grin and says, "Finally you can chauffeur me around".
She pulls me into a headlock- hug and kisses my cheek. For a single moment I look into her piercing ice-blue eyes and see the baby that I once carried in my arms. I can smell her sweet perfume and suddenly I remember the sweet smell of her tiny body when she was a baby. I remember the way her hands fit into mine, like tiny doll hands. I remember her toothless grin, and her wild, cotton-white hair standing up straight in the mornings as she squealed with delight when I came to pick her up from her crib.
This is happening too fast. This is not supposed to be this way. Make time stop. Make her stay young, and free of worry, and free of danger. Make her a child forever. Make me her Mommy forever.
Allison pulls me back and says, "What's wrong, Mom?" "Nothing really..." attempting to make a joke I say, "I'm worried about my poor car". She rolls her eyes and grins.
She extends her hand palm up. I look at it and give her "five". She remains standing, hand extended, with a disapproving look. "Oooohhhh... you want me to let you drive; you want my car keys".
Allison grins, her beautiful smile overpowering even the most brilliant of the Sun's rays. I dig the keys out of my purse and reluctantly hand them to her.
She gets in the driver side as I sit in the passenger's seat. The car rocks a bit as she maneuvers the seat settings back and forth until she finds a comfortable position from the pedals and steering wheel.
"Do you want me to get you a phone book to sit on?" I ask, to make fun of her tiny, yet long legged frame. "No mom" she says with an exasperated look.
The car slowly rolls back and suddenly I am transported back to 12-years-old. I'm riding a roller coaster for the first time. The roller coaster is slowly making it's acsending route to the top of the terrifying drop. Click-click-click-click-click....
"Which way do you want to go Mom?" 'Click-click-click-click'... the blinker is clicking impatiently as we are paused at the stop sign.
"Lets go right. We can stop at the store and get something for dinner".
She pulls out slowly and I remind her that, while she is being cautious - which is good - not to pull out TOO slowly, "You'll make yourself a sitting duck if someone flies around the corner". "Okay, sorry Mom".
After a few more, "Okay, sorry Mom"s we are at Publix. She does a fantastic job at parking the car. As I get out, I notice something new about her. She looks so much older. She looks proud and mature.
Mature. I don't like that word. I start to notice boys looking at her, MEN looking at her. Surely they assume she is "old enough" because she was driving. I catch a man, most likely early 20's doing a double take. I position myself in front of her as we walk, and interrupt the all-to-long stare he is giving my oblivious child. He snaps from his daze as he realizes a new picture has come into focus - my glare. He quickly averts his eyes, and head-down walks a clear, wide path out of our direction.
We return to our car to load the groceries. I open the back tailgate, and one of her soccer cleats tumbles out. I lean down to pick it up and examine the scuffed and dirt-streaked woman's size 8. Soon she'll be driving herself to practices and won't need "Mom" to check for her water jug, ball, and gear bag. "It's not over yet." I quietly whisper to myself. "Huh? Did you say something Mom?" "No baby".
We get back in to drive home. She does a superb job despite my death-like grip on my arm rest and small noises uttering from my throat as she manuevers a long S-curve.
She pulls the car into our driveway and the 'click-click-click-click' has been replaced with the whining screech of roller coaster wheels coming to rest on the track.
She looks at me as she turns the key and pulls it out of the ignition. I stare at her a moment, and she says, "Love you Mommy".
