The Ongoing Saga of the Teenage Driver

I need you to talk me off the ledge because I'm about fucking ready to jump.

It has not been two weeks since Monty almost killed him and his brother. It will be two weeks this Saturday. I'm still having nightmares.

When I went to pick the kids up from their Dad's Wednesday night only Jimmy and Nora came out to the car. Where's Monty? Jimmy explains that Monty is staying at Dad's for the night because Dad is taking him to look at a car.

crickets

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crickets

So I sat there pondering what to do. Do I go in the house and force my 6'2" -200 pound, 18 year old son into the car? Yeah, I didn't think so either. Do I sit there waiting for Ex to get home and have a calm, rational discussion with him about this? Judging by the way my blood was pounding in my veins I'm not sure how calm or rational the conversation would have been.

So I left. I took the two kids who I won't be writing out of my will home and proceeded to worry, stress, and fume for the rest of the night. By yesterday morning, I had myself convinced that I was overreacting. They were, after all, just going to look, right? No harm in looking. I knew Monty didn't have nearly enough money in his account to purchase any type of vehicle so no harm no foul, right?

Keep in mind I have told you countless times I'm very good at deluding myself.

A million dollars to the person that can guess what was parked in Ex's driveway yesterday morning when I dropped the kids that I don't want to hang from their fucking toenails off. That's right, a sparkly, rust colored, four door Sunfire.

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In the house I go. Did you hear the results of that conversation clear across the country? That's what I thought....

Let me tell you something about Ex. He does not argue with me. He does not raise his voice, he does not shout, he does not get emotional. It makes me want to punch him in the fucking face. Goddamn fight with me would you!!! What ensued was without a doubt the worst fight I've had with Ex and Monty. They do not understand my fear, they do not understand my anger over not being consulted about this purchase, they do not get that as a mother, it's my god given fucking right to be hysterical at the thought of my son killing himself because he's too arrogant and cocky to drive defensively.

As I stood there looking at the two of them I realized I was fighting a losing battle. Monty is his father's clone, it was like arguing with two Ex's. It gave me chills. In their mind, it's absolutely necessary Monty has a vehicle (I know, makes no good goddamn sense to me either) and I am the irrational, overprotective mother.

Accept the things you cannot change? That's always been a difficult pill for me to swallow. So I left Monty with his father. Not only because of the car issue but because I'm tired of being treated like a second class citizen by my son. I'm tired of being told that I don't know what I'm talking about, that my opinion does not matter, and that essentially I'm stupid. I know all teens think their parents are stupid. I know this. Thinking it and saying it are two different things. I don't have to listen to it in a house that I work two fucking jobs to pay the mortgage on.

Yeah, I'm angry. I'm hurt. I'm frustrated.

But mostly, I'm scared. I'm scared of when (not if) that phone call comes, or worse yet it won't be a phone call, it will be a knock on the door telling me my son isn't coming home again.

It's not an irrational fear (is it?). I feel this to the very core of my being. It's a sense stronger than anything I've ever had before in my life. And it scares me. He tempted fate once, what if he's not as lucky the next time?

Ok, you can proceed to talk me off the ledge now.