Adding a teenager to car insurance costs money. Adding a car payment costs even more money. As Abbey’s birthday got closer, we talked about how to handle an additional driver in the house. Since the insurance cost isn’t negotiable, we talked about the possibility of sharing two cars between three drivers. The kids’ schools are a mile apart. I work about a mile from home. Ryan works in his home office, which means some days he doesn’t go outside until it’s time to get the mail. Three drivers, two cars. It made sense in theory.
It makes sense, for the most part, though we’re only a few days into her independent driving journey.
But today, when one of the cars went to the dance studio and the other drove to karate and then my mother-in-law’s house, I found myself at home without transportation.
Some Thursdays, when Ryan goes to have dinner with his mom, I don’t even think about leaving the house until it’s time to pick up one of the kids from one of their activities. I use the quiet time in the house — which happens for only a few brief hours each week — to catch up on laundry, eat something ridiculous like cookies and blackberries for dinner, and read. Other Thursdays I plan dinner with a friend, but today wasn’t one of those days.
Yet, as Ryan left with the second car, I suddenly looked at my to-do list for the week. My eyes rested on the few errands that involved leaving the house. Ok, really it was one errand: pick up a prescription, one that wouldn’t run out for at least a week. I didn’t need to do that tonight. I could easily do it tomorrow, or the next day, and things would still be absolutely fine.
I couldn’t stop returning to that little line item on my list, the one thing I couldn’t do without the car.
It’s not like everything else was finished, with one item lingering. In fact, I still haven’t folded the laundry, and I can’t even figure out where I’m supposed to order the eighth grade happy ad or whatever it’s called that I’ve been meaning to do for a few weeks. But the one thing I suddenly felt I needed to do was the one thing I couldn’t do, and it made me think about what having an available car truly means.
In the sprawling land of the Detroit suburbs, a car means freedom. Public transportation is spotty, at best, non-existent at worst. I can’t take the imaginary subway or walk to a corner drugstore, though I guess I could bike if it wouldn’t have snowed today. (I haven’t been on my bike in probably two years.) Ubering to CVS for medicine I don’t even need is silly.
So I sat on the couch and did a few other things. I cooked random stuff for people to make into lunches or dinners later. I dragged laundry up the stairs (but didn’t fold it). I ordered groceries I’ll pick up sometime tomorrow. I texted friends about plans for the long weekend.
I survived, of course, without a car for a couple of hours. Even now, I feel silly for reacting the way I did, and the feeling will fade. I wonder if it will return.
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