At Least the Bumper Won't Be Itchy

This teen driving thing is pretty intense.  I'm glad I don't have a heart condition and I'm hoping that the crushing chest pain is merely anxiety.  One kid waits entirely too long to brake leaving me with visions of sitting inside the trunk of that Lexus in front of us. The other kid can't stay between the lines, weaving back and forth like he's speeding along in a miniature Shriner car and coming precariously close to the curb, river, ditch, giant tree, whatever.  Meanwhile, I take deep cleansing breaths and watch small snippets of my life flash before my eyes. After a particularly harrowing ride with Son #2 today, and with our entire family at risk in the car, he squealed up the driveway as I gripped the seat with one hand and covered my eyes with the other. "You're supposed to accelerate into the turns, Mom." Sure. He then peeled into the garage while all of us screamed, out loud this time and all I could think about what how the dining room might be redecorated to accentuate the Volkswagon that would now grace the west wall. Alas, he applied the brakes, but not before squishing the heck out what was ever in front of the car and we saw a fountain of clear liquid shoot into the air. I thought this was gas and had visions of the house bursting into flames. Tim shot out of the backseat like a rocket, ran around the car to find that Son #1 had flattened a gallon jug of poison ivy killer. The next time we end up in a ditch, at least the car won't be at risk for a rash. Awesome.