Driving.

This is my son, Elliott. Notice the elated expression on his face. Notice the cell phone on which he is sending mass quantities of text messages to all his friends to share his joyous news. Notice the piece of paper in his right hand. Today he got his driver's license.

But since this is a blog about "my" happy little things, I can't really talk about that right now - but it has reminded me of how much I absolutely LOVE to drive! I always have.

I got my license the day I turned 16. My parents let me take the family wagon - the light teal colored family station wagon, which I might have been embarrassed to drive considering that my two best friends, who had turned 16 just the month before, were driving their very own cars ... Diane, her 67 mustang fastback (which was thee hot year to have in a mustang), and Delanie, her 66 volkswagon beetle, completely rebuilt and customized for her by her father, with a license plate that read: DELANIE.

See, I said I might have been embarrassed, but I could have cared less that day, because I was all alone, behind the steering wheel, in a moving vehicle, heading off to my friends' houses. How cool was that?

I get my love of driving from my dad. If I had to venture a guess, I would say that my dad has driven across this country about 40 times - and he isn't (nor has he ever been) a traveling salesman or a business man who took work trips. We just moved from coast to coast several times and my dad liked to do his own moving.

Side note: Although my dad has had movers help him many times, there was one time, in particular, that I remember my parents moving from their house in San Juan Capistrano. I lived about 45 minutes away, so I drove down to see how the progress was coming with the move.

When I arrived at the house, it was empty ... the moving van all filled and I said, "Dad? Who helped you move?"

He said, "No one."

"What? No one helped you move?!! How did you do that?"

"One inch at a time." He said the only thing he couldn't move by himself was the piano.

I could NOT believe that. My dad was almost 60 at the time - he's my hero!

That was actually a valuable lesson for me that day. Years later, I wanted to paint my living room. I didn't have anyone around to help and I didn't want to wait, so I did move my piano to the opposite side of the room and back, as well as the couch, dining room table, and big iron bread rack ... one inch at a time.

(End long Side Note here.)

My siblings know that I love to drive, so when we are all out together, I will usually offer to be the designated driver. I have a pretty good sense of direction too, so I am better (no offense to my sisters) at finding my way around.

When my kids miss the bus (like Sophie did this morning), I will only complain because of the time element, not because I mind driving all the way to school. I enjoy the radio and it gives me an excuse to get an earlier start on my diet coke for the morning!

I have said many times that my dream job would be to be a personal driver for a family. (Not a limo driver - too much of their time is spent waiting.) I would want to be the girl who runs the errands, takes the kids where they need to go, drive the daddy executive around to his clients, or his clients around when they are in town on business. (Notice that I didn't mention the mom in the family. She has to stay home to do all the work and keep the household together so while everyone else is running around it doesn't fall apart.)

Okay - you get it, right? I am so tired right now I am feeling punch drunk ... good times! Good thing I'm in for the night and don't have to drive anywhere.

But I really do love to drive! Love it!