I put these brownies in the back of my car when they were still slightly warm from the oven. Along with a knife, my favorite brownie spatula, aluminum foil and a large Tupperware container.   I couldn’t cut them before leaving the house because, well, you must know what a mess they turn into when you try to cut them before they cool.

I was taking Youngest Son to a driving hour directly from his rehearsal. And from the driving hour straight to a team potluck (hence the brownies), and then I had my own meeting to get to right after that.

And since the driving school was 20 minutes away, there was no point in going back home. So I popped the hatch and cut the brownies in the parking lot. It was a good use of time.

Usually I just bring a book.

And usually I plan better than this.  I’ve always been well-prepared with snacks and even dinner in the car, especially when I know I’m going to be spending more time driving than anything else. I must be out of practice, given that Youngest Son is the only kid at home. I only have his schedule to coordinate with mine, and we’ve just come off a very laid back and relaxing summer routine. Which is to say, not much of a routine at all. So I fell short this evening.

My dinner was a half a bag of sour cream and cheddar potato chips. Eaten in the car. I am not proud of that.

When my three kids were little there was a complicated carpool choreography to construct. I spent a lot of time thinking, organizing, writing lists. (Some days my odometer would show that I had driven 75 miles in one day without ever leaving town.) I had to make sure everyone got to and from dance class, soccer practices, drama classes and choir practices on time, and no one was forgotten.

That actually did happen on at least two occasions that I can think of. I don’t know if it’s better or worse to say that both times it wasn’t my kid that I forgot.

Unfortunately,  I didn’t have a lot of patience during those years. When my girls would ask if I could drive them and some friends to the mall, or to someone’s house, my first response was often “No one else can drive?” I was annoyed instead of accommodating. Not that my job as a mom is to be accommodating, but sometimes my desire to do nice things for my kids was in direct opposition to my desire to get back in the f—king car. Again.

I would like to take this time to Formally Apologize to Oldest Daughter and Middle Daughter for not having enough patience when they asked me to drive them places. I am sorry girls.

It’s almost the end of my Driving Era.  Youngest Son has only a few more instructed driving hours to complete before he can take his road test. And then…that’s it. The youngest sibling who got dragged out of the house on every carpool for YEARS because he was too young to stay home alone will soon be driving himself everywhere.

As much as I complained about all the driving, I enjoyed so many of the impromptu conversations. We’d talk about TikTok trends, recipes, social drama at school, sometimes world events or politics.  I learned a lot about my kids from those random chats and from listening to different music they liked.

I am a little sad to think that unstructured time for spontaneous conversation is going to end soon.  It’s hard to replicate that captive audience you get with your kids in the car.

So much of parenting involves expiration dates. But I feel like we don’t notice them when the kids are little. We’re so busy just trying to make it through the day without a meltdown (us, I mean- the parents) that we don’t notice, when was the last time they sat on our laps for a story or needed help washing their hair? We just look back and realize, oh I haven’t  done that in awhile.

And when we figure out it might have been the last time for a milestone, we promise ourselves we’ll pay closer attention the next time so we can truly soak up the sight, sound, smell of a “last.”

Those “lasts” seem to announce themselves with a billboard’s subtlety though, when your babies enter their teens and approach graduation.  And I have shared and participated in the joy and excitement of every milestone my kids have passed. When they’re happy, I’m happy.

But I’d be a fool not to acknowledge the grief that sometimes comes with that joy. If you’ve ever watched the cartoon version of “The Jungle Book” movie, then you know the part near the end when Mowgli sees the girl and follows her.  Bagheera whispers, “Go on, go on…” while Baloo the Bear whispers, “Come back, come back…” and this perfectly describes the dichotomy of parenthood for me.

It’s a little more poignant for me this third and final time around. 

When my son does get his license, I will yell congratulations and be embarrassingly proud with photos and a social media post of course.

But I’ll be waiting, on some level, with my car keys and a full tank of gas, for the question I hope comes one more time, “Hey Mom, can you drive us somewhere?”