Monday, June 2, 2014

Perpetually Lost

You all know that my own self-image is not nearly as incompetent as the image I paint in this space, right? That I tell you my two-right-shoe stories and my I'm-not-a-very-good-cook stories because  I usually have on a complete pair of matching shoes, and that I rock a chocolate sheetcake? This is true in every area of my life except one:

I am a terrible navigator.

Husband, Boys, friends, can I get an 'amen' here? (Not so loudly, please.)

The best moment of my young motherhood was not when the toilet-training was finished, or even when the vomiters learned to hit the bucket. No, the best moment was the day when Boy#1 took my place in the shotgun seat and opened an atlas on his lap. WOOOOOOOOOO!

No more nervously tracing lines to a destination, and watching for the exit sign--"Turn here! I meant turn back there! Turn around!" Now my sons were taking their rightful spots in the map-loving lineage of their father, and happily plotting courses that got us from Point A to Point B effortlessly and efficiently. It was navigational nirvana.

I must stress here that Husband has been the perfect pilot for a nervous navigator--never once has he said "Really? You really thought a gravel road would take us to the interstate?" or "Really? You really think I can get four lanes over to an exit in less than 100 yards?" No, he's been the swell peach of a guy that I married and his response to my ineptitude, over and over and over again, has been "Well, this isn't the end of the world. Let me get pulled over and I'll take a look."

I know! What did I do to deserve him?

But the Boys grew up and left home, darn it anyway, and while my grocery budget and tolerance for clutter have benefited from this transition, I have lost my navigators. As we were on our way to pick up Boy#1 from an unfamiliar airport a few weeks ago I got us so thoroughly and completely lost that we almost missed his flight. And that was with the help of my phone's GPS system. I may or may not have cried, and said "You don't even know how much I hate navigating."

Yesterday morning the sermon was about the 40 years the Israelis spent wandering around in the wilderness before they reached the Promised Land. Our preacher pointed out that if they had only gone northeast instead of southwest, they'd have gotten to their destination in a matter of weeks.

Husband leaned over and lovingly church-whispered, "Hey! Why didn't you tell me you had been Moses's navigator?"

Sigh. Some reputations are just too well-earned.


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