Let's just say that someone who is past the age of driver's ed, who has a license, got busted on the way home today. Thankfully, not by the police*, but by the only female in the car. Then, by proxy, one of the sons.
After church, we decided to take a detour home. We have this interesting routine of coming home via the tollway, except, instead of doing what sane people do when they have a toll road to travel on, we drive south from Frankford to Spring Valley on the service road**. That's a total of about four miles, with about five stoplights. Lights which are never particularly excited about being green during our time in the car with three kids who "want to get home because their bodies are going to EXPLODE if they don't get out of their Sunday clothes NOW and get lunch so they can play".
Yet, week after week, we continue this routine. One day I'm going to go all "Dog Day Afternoon" on Mike and tell him what I think***. Without all the police and guns.
So, back to our detour. It is through a lovely neighborhood of houses we've had fun looking at but could never afford to pay any of the a. mortgages b. light bills or c. taxes on. Still, it never hurts to look****.
At the end of this lovely road, there is a stop sign, at which we take a left to wander through another lovely neighborhood until we get to the large road that creates a barrier between the "haves" and the "haves, but just barely". We live on the latter side of the street.
At this stop sign, ostensibly, people STOP. Today, Mike became one of those people who didn't. It was followed by me gasping "You didn't even stop."
Mike's response? "There was a stop sign there?"
Now, if we hadn't just had a conversation yesterday about the "accident that almost was", I wouldn't have been so anal*****. But, piggybacking off that, I was a little more than concerned that my husband's driving was going the way of my memory: downhill at enormous speeds.
Because our kids are surrounded by sarcasm 24/7, one of them immediately joined the conversation, stating, "Yeah, Dad. You're lucky you didn't have one of the 'call this number' bumper stickers. If you did, you'd SO BE BUSTED."
Now, I'm thinking this has REAL potential. Not for Mike, but for the kids. I've heard of parents applying these stickers on their teenager's cars. Basically, begging anybody with a cell phone to tattle on their kids, hypothetically keeping them from accidentally killing themselves/others while driving at age 16. The real threat of Mom/Dad receiving a phone call from some gray hair saying "Your child just cut me off at Plano Parkway and the Tollway, going 6o mph, in a 30" is enough to keep most teenagers from driving like a bat out of hades.
So, in a few years, we'll revisit this little idea.
For now, Mike will just have to continue avoiding accidents and trying to observe stop signs.
Me? I'll have to keep working on keeping my mouth shut because nobody likes an anal back seat driver in the passenger seat.
*Because they have a warrant out for Mike's arrest for hanging up the phone on one of their finest.
**Only one of us in the car thinks this is a charming, lazy Sunday drive. Guess who?
***Never actually seen this movie, but love Al Pacino and get that there are guns, screaming and threatening, lots of police, hostages and a good negotiation at the end. Geez, I think I've practically seen this movie without ever seeing it.....
****Maybe Mom Huber will eventually hit all five numbers in the lottery and, as part of our inheritance, they'll be enough to move there.
*****Two things here: 1. the swerve to avoid the accident was followed by cheers from the mini-passengers and the statement: "Can we do that AGAIN?" Cars SHOULD NOT become amusement rides 2. actually, I probably would have been that anal, regardless.
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