Freed Birds

For twenty-three years, one month, and four days, I have been on call. For twenty-three years, one month, and four days, there has always been some little person at home who depends on me, if not for his or her life, for a ride.

Out of habit, I suppose, I stationed myself at home today at 3:30, knowing my newly minted sixteen year old daughter would arrive soon and want to go somewhere, require my services. I had been there, seen it with my own eyes, watched her come in from her road test (which, by my calculations, took about three hours) and get directed quite unceremoniously to the driver's license picture taking station. I was well aware of her impatience, her frustration that she still needed to return to school for two hours before taking her first solo spin behind the wheel.

Yet there I was, at home, waiting, somehow believing I was still relevant. I was upstairs when she came in. "MOM!" she called. Oh, yay, she needs me. Delighted, I nearly tripped over a large sleeping dog as I raced downstairs to greet her and offer up whatever it was that was expected of me. "I'M GOING!" she yelled, well before I had made it all the way down to the first floor.

"I'M COMING!" I called, skidding around the banister and trying to appear indifferent as I slowed to a jog for my grand entrance into the kitchen. But she was already halfway out the garage door, her black and white canvas sneaker all I could see as she bolted out for her maiden voyage. Be careful I said, to nobody in particular.

Well, good riddance. I have waited a long time for a taste of this kind of freedom, that peaceful, easy feeling you get when you reach a certain place in your life where your time finally becomes your own. Ha, she may think she's the one who's been set free, but look at me. Nothing to hold me back, this eagle is ready to stop telling tales and get out there and take flight. I'll show her what it feels like to be cut loose.

By the time I figured out what I would do to celebrate, it was, as it turned out, five o'clock somewhere, so I decided to go for a drink. Mike, the Starbucks barista, seemed puzzled to see me so late in the day. "Are you partying today?" he asked. Oy, he should only know. Pity party for one. I've been canned, my services are no longer needed. Yes, I am celebrating my obsolescence. Taking a page from my daughter's book, I grunted at him. Screw it, he must know by now I'm a morning person.

It will take a while, but I am sure I will begin to enjoy the freedom. Soon, I hope, when an ambulance from the fire department speeds by me, my mind will not immediately jump to the conclusion that something has happened to my child, my baby who certainly cannot be old enough to be driving. Things will return to normal, I am sure, and I will instead just crane my neck to check out the cute fireman behind the wheel.


Woohoo! I'm as free as a bird now, and this bird you cannot change. Once a mom, always a mom. But  I'll figure out how to use those wings. Eventually.