Yes, she did.  Your very own Em drove her own car all the way to church and the grocery store yesterday … all by herself.  She’s stoked.

You’re thinking, “Uh, is this really a big deal?! I mean, don’t people drive every day?”, and you’re right, for most it’s not really parade worthy.  Most people were not the head injured driver in a roll over accident a little over a year ago.  Oh, and most people can kiss my ass, I’ll be happy if I want to.

The back story … I drive a lot for my job.  It’s a large passenger vehicle (smaller than a bus) full of the kids I teach and coach.  We crisscross the state to competitions from August to February, and as much as we love the great State of Michigan, it snows here sometimes (ok, most times) and the roads get a little sketchy (ok, really sketchy).  On one of those trips, we were in an accident.  The vehicle rolled into the median.  My kids were alright, thank the Universe, save some scratches from flying glass and a couple seatbelt bruises.  Only half of them went to the hospital.  I say thank you every single freaking day for that.

And so, I might be a little traumatized.  I might get super ridiculously anxious every time I’m on the road when it’s snowing or icing or slickery (that’s a Midwestern word … isn’t it fun?).  Anxious enough to shake or spaz or breathe erratically and be terribly convinced that every attempt to slow down or stop, every acceleration, every turn or twist or curve in the road, and every car nearby is a likely source of death and dismemberment every.single.second.  My rational mind tells me I’m ridiculous and my psych degree tells me I need to densensitize.  I don’t like to tell people that the reason That Boy and I show up together all the time from snow up to snow down and never together when the grass is green is because I don’t drive in the snow … because I’m a big scaredy cat.

Yesterday, the roads were dry.  The sun was shining.  It was still January, granted, and cold as shit outside (a sweltering 16F when I left), but I was feeling brave.  I got in my car, drove the 20 minutes to church and then hit the grocery store for (FREE!!) cheese all by my lonesome.  It’s not a huge deal, probably, but it’s a step in the right direction.  It’s earlier than I started driving again last year.  To have freedom of movement back, without having to feel bad for asking That Boy if he wants to accompany me to the grocery store (the answer to which is never really yes, regardless of whether he ends up going or not), would be grand.  I’m baby-stepping it.  With a little fanfare along the way.