This is not good for my rage.

Good morning!

My kids will tell you that I'm an angry driver.  When they were young they'd have to explain to their friends

that no, I'm not yelling at anyone in the car, I'm yelling at other drivers.

It's not that I think I'm the best driver on the road.  I don't.  It's just that I feel there are a few things every driver should be doing and when they aren't, then they are MORONS!  

The list is simple:

1)  Use your directionals when you're making a lane change or a turn.
2)  Drive at a steady speed.  If you're a slow driver, that's okay. Then drive slowly.  Don't drive slowly and then speed up when you realize everyone is passing you and you feel like a dork.  
3)  If you're not willing to drive ten MPH over the speed limit, for the LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY, STAY OUT OF THE LEFT LANE!
4)  If you insist on putting on your makeup, talking on your phone, or texting, that's fine.  I'm not going to tell you how to live.  But if I'm late to work, or can't make a turn, or get in a crash because you can't get your crap together BEFORE you get in the car and therefore you are overcompensating by DRIVING MORE SLOWLY AND TAKING UP THE ENTIRE ROAD, then yes, I'm going to yell at you out of my car window.

Well, this past week, on several different driving occasions, I realized there's one more thing I have to add to the list.  And it's so stupid, I can't believe people are actually doing this on the road, but this week it's happened often enough that I have to put it on the list.

THE LIGHT IS GREEN:  WHY ARE YOU BRAKING FOR A GREEN LIGHT?

Admittedly, since my car accident two years ago, I'm a far more cautious driver than I was and no one prior to the accident would have labeled me a maniac.  I tend to err on the side of caution at lights.  I try not to push faster at a yellow, I tend to stop.  But, come on, GREEN MEANS GO.

This past week, on no less than four separate moments, while behind four different cars at four different intersections I witnessed this.  People are braking, slowing down, and coming to a near stop at GREEN LIGHTS.

This is not good for my rage.

Who are these people?  Isn't like cluttered enough?  Don't we have enough stop lights and signs and idiot drivers who think they're driving extra careful because they're distracted or impaired and we wind up getting behind them and can't get around them because, since they can't be bothered to follow ALL the rules, they think they're making up for it by following a few rules EXTRA WELL.  (Hey, soccer mom on the phone while reading your kids' report cards...you AREN'T FOOLING ANYONE!)

Where was I? Oh yes:  Aren't there enough reasons to have to slow down or stop while driving, does a GREEN LIGHT actually have to be one of them?  Is there there we are as a society?  We stop for green lights and merrily drive through red ones?  I know we wanted to be a color blind society...I just didn't realize it was going to apply to traffic lights.

So, as a public service announcement, let me say this:  

Green means GO.

Red means STOP.

Yellow does NOT mean "punch it faster."

But mostly:  GREEN DOES NOT MEAN STOP!

No teenagers were harmed in the writing of this blog...yet.

Good morning all!

First let me get this off my chest:  TWO WEEKS UNTIL I SEE RICK SPRINGFIELD IN CONCERT!

Whew!  Thank you, now I return to you to my regularly scheduled rant.


Those of you who have teenagers will recognize this story very well.  Skippy is seventeen and as such, he believes that he is all grown up and therefore on his own completely.  Now, this does not cover things like his phone, most of his gas money, car insurance, laundry...cleaning his room, or lunch money.  But other than that, he's completely independent of us!

Generally, as long as he tells us where he's going and who he's with, we don't dig too deep. We've met most of his friends, and most of their parents.  As for a curfew, he has one, and the rule is if he thinks he's going to be late, he needs to call.  So far, that hasn't been a problem.

Well, a couple weeks ago, Skippy decided he was even more independent of us than normal.  "I'm going to a bonfire tonight," he calls over his shoulder on his way out the door for his school day.

That was the last we saw of him for a lot of hours.  He didn't come home after school.  I sent him a text asking where he was.  No response.  Another text.  No response.  After the third text I got back a terse response that he was at a bonfire, as he had informed me.

What followed was a flurry texts that all parents can construct and all children have ignored.

I was sort of frantic.  Hubby, far more laid back and therefore far more trusting, said, "He's fine.  He's with his friends."

He went to bed.  I fell asleep on the couch.

I woke at 1:30 in the morning with that gut feeling that something wasn't right.  I checked the driveway and sure enough, Skippy's car wasn't there.

In a panic, I sent several texts to Skippy, with no response.  That's when I rousted Hubby from his slumbers.  He got out into the car and started that drive by of every spot where we know Skippy hangs out.  Meanwhile, I continued the frantic texting.

Every parent has this fear, that something has happened to their kid and they have no idea where the child is.  Images of crashed cars, flashing lights, kids in traction, run through our heads.  Such was my brain until 2 AM when Hubby sends me this message:

"His car is at his friend's N's house."

Having found the car, and seeing that car wasn't crushed, I was relieved.  Which, if you know your Cosby Show references, meant we moved on to the next parental emotion:  RAGE.

Hubby texted N, responded right away that yes, Skippy was there and yes, he had fallen asleep and N could not rouse him.

Satisfied that the boy wasn't dead, Hubby returned home and promptly went to bed.

How are men so able to just fall asleep like that?  Seriously, Hubby could fall asleep in the middle of a rock concert during a thunderstorm.  Nothing phases him when it's time to sleep, not bills, not thoughts about the kids, nothing.  The minute he lies down, he is asleep.  Period.  Game over.

So Hubby is asleep and so, apparently is Skippy.  Who's sitting, wide awake, on the couch in the middle of night?

You guessed it!

I must have drifted off at some point because when I woke around 8, Hubby was up and asked, "When did Skippy get home?"

I never realized he was home, but sure enough, there was his car, parked in the driveway.

We of course had some questions for Skippy.  Somewhere between his time of waking  (noon) and his time of showering  (noon o seven)  We had a conversation that went something like this:

"Why didn't you let us know where you were last night?"

"I told you.  I was at C's house for a bonfire."

"No, you said you were going to a bonfire.  I've never heard C's name."

"Well, I told you, you don't listen."

(I let that one pass.)

"So we tried texting you and you didn't respond."

"I did."

"One time to one text.  But we asked you questions about where you were and you ignored the texts."

"I didn't have my phone most of the time at the bonfire.  Then we went to N's house and my phone died."

(Since the day he got the phone, I haven't seen him without it.  I had been under the impression he texted in the shower.)

"Why didn't you let us know you were at N's house?"

"Because my phone died."

"So you couldn't use N's phone to let us know what you were there?"

"That's N's phone."

Ah...and there, my friends, is the real problem.  I was not aware of this but apparently cell phones only work when being used by their owner.  Sort of like some Harry Potter wand thing or something.  I know I've let other people use my phone and it hasn't been a problem, so it must be some evil spell that's cast over a teen's phone.  That seems to be the theory Skippy is sticking to.

Our wands...and our cell phones...ONLY work for us!

The good news is, no one was actually injured, because everything Skippy told us was the truth.  I guess,  it's nice to know that his party animal energy runs out at 9 PM on a Friday.  It's even nicer, I suppose, that he did manage to get himself home, albeit late.  But of course, that's probably my St. John's Wart talking. 

You can be sure, though, that Skippy's phone is fully charged...and will be from now on.