THE PERILS OF PARALLEL PARKING

If given the choice, of parallel parking directly in front of the door of the establishment I am about to enter, or of parking 17 blocks away in a spot that forced me to walk barefoot, on glass, through alleys filled with knife-wielding masked bandits, I believe that my choice would be obvious; I would ask my husband to park the car instead.  The only way I am able to successfully parallel park is if there are no other cars in any of the spaces on the street, AND all other drivers have agreed, in writing, that they will not use any of those other spots, until I have finished my errand and driven my car back out. It is curious, I think, that knowing of these issues I was the one who was chosen to teach my daughters this particular aspect of driving.
When instructing Holly, I decided that a great opportunity to learn how to parallel park had presented itself, when I noticed that two of our vehicles were placed a car length apart on our hilly driveway, with just enough room for her to pull Dave's new car between them.
"This is great!"" I said to Holly.  "Just pull up next to the first car, and then we will carefully angle dad's new car in such a way, that we will easily glide into the empty-space between it and the second one in just 3 easy motions."
"Really, mom?"  asked Holly. (whose name should have been Thomas, due to her doubting nature)
"Yes!  I have been driving for years." I said, confidently. "Just follow my instructions. I am sitting right next to you. What could go wrong?"
Holly pulled up next to the first vehicle, and I instructed her to turn the steering wheel and begin to back in at a sharp angle, towards the imaginary curb, about a third of the way between the two other vehicles.  I had not even gotten to the next step when Holly and I, who were both looking out the back window to ensure that we DID NOT hit the vehicle behind us, suddenly heard a sound that was very similar to the sound of our car hitting another car... in FRONT of us.
"What the he#% was that?"  I said, as Holly and I turned back around to look.
"Oh," I said, answering my own question. "That WAS the sound of us hitting a car in front of us.  I forgot to watch that we didn't hit that one."
In a panicked voice Holly, who was still unfamiliar with all the rules of parallel parking, wisely asked me, the expert, what we should do next.
"We should somehow hide these cars, before dad arrives home."  I replied.
We successfully did this, without parallel parking any of them, and then ordered pizza as a nice treat for Dave.
Dave arrived home, and as we sat enjoying our pizza together, Holly said, "Boy, this sure is a great pizza Dad.  And, also, I wanted to tell you that I love you very much."
With that, Dave raised his head and gazed at us with his eyes narrowed, suspiciously. He then said, "Something has happened to my car, hasn't it?"  (and I am not even kidding...that is exactly how it happened)
"What kind of thing is that for a father to say to his child???"  I shouted...but, unfortunately, he didn't hear me since he had already begun running out into the driveway, where he sadly discovered the two vehicles we had damaged.
I must confess, Dave was remarkably kind about the incident, and explained to Holly that accidents happen when a child is learning how to drive...especially if I am the one teaching them.
For all future instruction, I utilized those orange parking cones, rather than actual cars, to teach my daughters the joys of parallel parking....let that be a lesson to you all.  Blessings, Amycita :D

I THINK I KNOW WHAT PURGATORY IS LIKE...

Last week my daughter Olivia was on Easter break from college, so I made the 6 hour round-trip to pick her up, and, a few days later, the 6 hour round-trip to take her back.  Each time on the way up, when we hit the city of Flint, which is about 50 minutes from our home in Romeo, I would feel elated because we had almost completed one third of our journey.  Each time on the way back, when we hit the city of Flint, which is about 50 minutes from our home in Romeo, I would feel despair, because we still had to complete about one third of our journey.  That is the spot at which I would begin to whine, repeating, over and over, my return-trip mantra, "We are never going to get home.  We are never going to get home.  Why can't she go to a school closer to home."
On one of the trips, my husband had driven along with me, so I lamented to him how much more fun it would be if we had taken a six hour drive that actually ended up with our final destination being somewhere other than our house; a vacation spot, for example. To pass the time, I asked him where we would be if we had gone north for six hours.
"Well," he said. "We would have crossed the Mackinac bridge, and would be somewhere in the Upper Peninsula."
"Oh, that would be great."  I replied, wistfully. "Where would we be if we had driven south?"
"Still in Ohio." he said.
"Oh, that would be hell." I replied, horrified.  Where would we be if we had continued on towards the West?"
"We would be in Chicago."
"Much better!" I said with enthusiasm.  "If we went east though, I think we would be in the middle of one of the Great Lakes, so we shouldn't go that way.  Then again, if we just continue on in the direction we are going we will end up in our house, that is presently being remodeled, and is covered with dust and in total disarray. I am just going to go east, after all; the middle of Lake Huron will be cleaner."
In just a few weeks, I will be making the trip again; this time with a Valente caravan, if I can coordinate one, so that we can bring Olivia home, along with all the furnishings and clothes that she has accumulated in the dorm room that she will be vacating for the summer. It is interesting to note how many possessions a student can fit into a room about the size of one's bathroom...the amount is considerable.   A couple of months later we will reverse the process, so that we can bring Olivia  back, along with all the furnishings and clothes that she will be needing again, in the NEW dorm room she will be occupying.  College administrators plan it this way, because they feel that paying tuition isn't memorable enough for parents of students; the additional work of moving a student in and out of dorm rooms on a regular basis will embed the college experience in parents' minds for eternity.  It is also helpful because it gives one an idea of what purgatory would be like, thus providing incentive to be a better person.
Ultimately though, it is, of course, worthwhile.  Olivia has had an exemplary first year, and, just like her sisters before her, Dave and I marvel at all that she has accomplished.  She is, also, the last of our daughters, so we understand that the next move we make with her, after her college years are finished, will be to somewhere other than her home with us.  It is enough to make me savor these long drives...and maybe wish they wouldn't be over, so soon.