Skip to main content

On the Road Again

There's a lot that I love about being a parent, but there is one stage I would like to delete from the parenting handbook: driver's ed. I thought that round two would be easier. I'd be an experienced passenger ready to calmly teach my son the rules of the road. Actually, who am I kidding? At the ripe old age of nine, Nelson was kicked off a go-cart course. This should have been my first clue that driving with him might be a little different.  I blame that one on Mario Cart, the video game that allows young boys to practice driving with reckless abandon. As I watched him go around the go-cart course, the look in his eyes told me he was trying to put to good use all that Mario had taught him. Let's just say that Mario's techniques are a little different from what the Department of Licensing is looking for.  My son learned that the hard way after running off the go-cart track one too many times. When the owner came storming onto the track and pointed to the exit, he suddenly realized that racing Mario and Luigi was not quite the same as the "real" thing. So let me say that this is definitely no easier the second time around, and actually the grey hairs are coming in by the handful right now. Could be that Mario still resides deep down within Nelson because I have never experienced conversations quite like these:

Nelson (as he is driving on a 55-mile-an-hour road for the first time): This is so cool!

or...

Me: You need both hands on the wheel.
Nelson: But I need to learn how to drive with my knees.
Me: Give me one good reason why (never, by the way, open the door with a question like this).
Nelson: I need to learn to drive with my knees so that I can perform CPR while driving.
Me: No response. Starting to feel heart palpitations.

or...

Me: Nelson, do you see the sign that tells you to go 20 mph around this curve?
Nelson: I am so not going 20 around this curve. What's the fun in that?

Despite an innate love for speed, my son is actually a very competent driver. Young? Unaware of all that can quickly go wrong behind the wheel? Yes, yes, but he'll get there -- hopefully in one piece. And to be honest, there's a part of me that does not like the independence he will soon gain when he is able to grab the keys and go. That's the death-defying part when I will no longer be in the passenger seat reminding him that he does not need to learn to drive with his knees and that he must slow down. I also know that with license in hand we will start to see less and less of him. Parenting is all about letting go. That's the really hard part.

So carpe diem, I say. Time to enjoy that son of mine who is quickly becoming a charming young man right before my eyes. What better way to wind down from a summer practice drive than with a watermelon mojito. I adapted a recipe from Ina Garten, and it's a recipe that is meant to be shared with friends at a backyard barbeque. So go grab yourself a juicy watermelon and some mint, stay off the roads that are within a ten-mile radius of our house, and enjoy the summer sunshine.

Watermelon Mojito
(adapted from Ina Garten)

30 large fresh mint leaves, coarsely torn by hand
2 cups of watermelon puree
6 to 8 ounces rum (I used Appleton Estate Jamaican rum)
1/2 cup simple syrup
6 T freshly squeezed lime juice (about 3 limes)
Sprigs of mint and spears of watermelon for garnish

Use a mortar and pestle (or a muddler) to mash the mint leaves. Cut up enough watermelon to fill a food processor approximately half full. With a steel blade, puree the watermelon and mint until very smooth. Pour two cups of the mixture into a pitcher and add the rum, simple syrup and lime juice. Put ice cubes into your cups and pour the mojito mixture in. Garnish with the mint sprigs and watermelon spears. This mixture will make about 6 servings; you can always double it for a large crowd. If you're serving dinner, you can make this in advance and then greet your guests at the door, mojitos in hand. They will love you forever.

 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cheaper by the Dozen

Beautiful, aren't they? There's something about farm fresh eggs that almost makes me want to quit my day job and become a lady farmer. Almost. For now I will settle for my son's occasional post as head keeper of a friend's menagerie, which happens to include ten chickens. Fortunately for me, these chickens are prolific producers, so when our friends go on vacation, we are the happy recipients of many  beautiful eggs. At first we revel in the most scrumptious omelets and scrambled concoctions. By day four or five, however, I admit to often having egg overload. Not this time. As soon as these eggs started appearing, I began thinking about Ramos Gin Fizzes because when made the old fashioned way, they contain an egg white. If you're like me, this news would normally bring a halt to my experimentation. But my new stock of farm fresh eggs gave me reason to carry on because they came from chickens that I have watched cluck and roost, and that makes all the differen...

State of Mind, State of Body

Many years ago I competed in triathlons, and one race always sticks out in my mind. Actually, it's one moment from one race. I was on the bike leg, which for me was always my strongest. As I was riding along and happily gaining ground on all the folks who were stronger swimmers, another woman came up alongside and said, "Hey, nice bike." We chatted for half a minute about the finer points of Cannondale bikes, and then she sped off. When I looked down at her calf muscle and saw the permanent pen markings that indicated her age, I read five zero, fifteen years my senior! Humbled? Yes. Impressed? Very much so. I have long been drawn to older, fit folks. If you've been a longtime reader of my blog, you might remember when I wrote about George Garside and the Auckland Cycle Touring Association . This was a group of incredibly fit 60, 70, and 80 year old men I was privileged to ride with once, and the experience definitely left its mark. These men took their fitness serio...

A Sense of Style

Some people collect stamps, others recipes. I seem to have a penchant for shoes, but let me just say that mine is not a typical collection because it has an extreme lack of diversity. To be honest, I was a little horrified the other day to look down in my closet and realize that perhaps, just perhaps, I had gone over the edge. You decide. Now, I have my justifiable reasons -- don't we all? My feet have always had issues, just ask my sister. For years she kept track of my toenails, or lack thereof. After years of running, hiking, skiing, and spending time in large, clunky boots with low arches that don't prevent my toes from slamming into the front of those boots, I have bruised (and lost) many a toenail. Nowadays, my feet are cursed by plantar fasciitis. If you've never suffered from this ailment, may you pray to the feet gods that you never do. This tends to be one of those aging problems. Your arches sink over time, which is not a good thing if you didn't hav...