Driving in the car with a child who has a Learner’s permit is one of life’s most stressful events.

It’s not natural. I’d put it right up there with jumping out of a plane. Which, I assure you, I’ll never do.

It can take a normal semi-calm individual and turn her into a “nervous nelly.” It’s not pretty.

Before Zoe got her permit, we didn’t allow her to drive. Not even once in a school parking lot. Perhaps this was a stupid decision, but we followed the law. We might rethink this when it comes to our second child.

Because now, every time I get into the car with Zoe, my blood pressure is elevated to unhealthy levels. I use more four letter words than I intend to use, and I yell like a monster. I try to visualize pink flowers, blowing in the wind, but it doesn’t help.

I do not recognize myself.

The fear takes over, and turns me into someone I’m not proud to be.

It’s not that she isn’t a good driver. She’s really doing fine. It’s that I don’t have the temperament for this. If I say, “Turn right,” half the time she passes it and doesn’t turn.

Which makes me yell. Loudly.

Which stresses her out.

The other day, when we got into the car, I said, “Zoe, I’m going to try really hard not to yell at you today.”

“That would be great,” she said.

We smiled, and just knew things were going to be better. By the time we reached the edge of our neighborhood, I’d yelled at her three times, and had almost picked all of the nails off my fingers.

“I like driving better with Dad,” she said.

“I like you driving with Dad,” I agreed.

But here’s the reality: Dad’s at work, and I’m usually the one who gets to drive with her. “This isn’t good for our relationship,” she told me, as I was yelling at her.

And she’s right. I hate this. I hate everything about this.

Thank goodness she’ll be sixteen in a couple of months. I don’t know how much more I can take. Of course, that will bring with it a whole different kind of stress.

Find meaning each day,

Dara