With each one, I grieve a little.

I recently read a blog post called "The last time," the tender thoughts of a mother as she acknowledged all those "last times" that came quicker than she ever expected. The last time she breastfed a baby. The last time a toddler reached out his arms and cried "Carry you!" The last time a sick child snuggled next to her in bed.

I could relate to this sweet mother, all too well. Most of those "last times" are in the past for me, as I strive to live in the present, embracing every second of raising our final child, now teenager. My more recent "last times" include the last time I watched a child sing in the Primary Program, the last time I had a middle school kid, and the last time I helped dress up a goblin for Halloween.

This past week, I experienced another "last time" -- the last time I sat shotgun next to a 15-year-old, his first time behind the wheel. Seth didn't rush this whole driving thing; his 16th birthday is four days from now. You can be dang sure I didn't press the issue; I encourage him to slow down, not speed up, this process toward adulthood. But I knew the time would come, and come it did. So off to the motor vehicle's office we went.

We submitted his paperwork, paid the fee, and then the agony began. Keep in mind that I am an anxious mom, as in I have a very real anxiety disorder. So I have no idea how normal, non-anxious moms react to such situations, but for me, it's one big hot mess of stress. It parallels watching your kids in those damn (pardon me) spelling bees or piano adjudications. Waiting while they take the test is the definition of "mother torture."

I sat in the waiting area with a view of Seth across the room in the testing area. Of course I couldn't read the questions on the computer screen, but I could see them appear and watch him think, then choose his answer and move on. With each question, I prayed he answered right. So anxious I was that I even resorted to my relaxation/visualization exercises, followed by the standard "What's the worst thing that could happen?" strategy. What's the worst thing? He'd fail the test. And we'd come back tomorrow and try again. Sheesh, Terrianne, get a grip; it's not like he's taking the freakin' Bar exam.

But you see, I didn't want him to fail. Because I didn't want him to be sad.

As you can see from the photo above, he passed! With flying colors. Relief flooded my anxious body, combined with that gushing mother pride/love that makes even their tiniest victories monumental. The Erichsen-Webster family has another driver.

Of course he wanted to use his new learner's permit immediately, so we headed for the standard "first time behind the wheel" venue, our church parking lot. Lots and lots of open space with nothing to run into. Memories flooded over me of my previous four kids in this exact situation. The learning curve was steeper for some than others. Shulamith was like a fish to water; it was like she was born to drive. After two minutes touring the parking lot, she was ready to hit the road, and did! The boys were more cautious. One in particular struggled mightily. I'll never forget his face as he looked at me in desperation, "Mom, I will never learn to drive!" I assured him he would. "You will drive. I promise. Everyone drives. Dumb people drive. Smart people drive. You will learn to drive." And he did! Quite well, I might add (so you know I'm not talking about Isaiah).

Seth was cautions but calm. He did well. We did a couple sessions in the parking lot before he ventured out into traffic. So far he hasn't gone out on State or 7th, where traffic is heavier and the speed is 40 mph, but he's done multiple trips around all the subdivisions in our neighborhood, and each time, his confidence grows.

Another "last time" has come and gone. With each one, I grieve a little.