It's not the destination... It's the journey...

This is possibly my favorite quote and it's become my mantra lately.

This is partially because I'm really happy these days. I'm writing in a new genre, which is hard and frustrating and exhilarating. Picture me, blazing a new trail hacking my way through doubt and writer's block while cursing the freakin' journey. And there's a lot of blood, sweat and tears, too and I'm not talking about the group.

Life is good at home. Husband is wonderful. Teenager is maintaining. We have a roof over our head, food on our table and a iPod in every pocket. Okay, life is better than just good. It's truly great and I do make it a point to pull off life's highway now and then and take in how really great it is!

But the journey that's prodding me to blog here today is my journey as a parent. When I signed up for this (and since my son is adopted signing actually took place) I did not sign on for the ala carte pick your plate version of parenting. No. If life is a banquet, I signed on for the uber buffet. The whole enchilada... with coffee, dessert... mint... three types of spoons, two water glasses. You get the idea.

I mostly thought I would only get to do this once and I wanted to not only make it count. I wanted to remember it. I wanted to savor it. I wanted it to mean something to me. And let me tell you, it does.

Like most parents it has been a labor of love and a journey of immense proportions. Highs, lows all at once... colliding and spilling over. It's been high and dry, down and dirty, sweet, messy and wonderful all at the same time but all along this journey I always knew whose hand was on the rudder... until yesterday.

You see now that he has his permit and insurance he needs to drive -- ulp, with me! So, with four driving lessons under his belt, I handed him the keys and strapped myself into the passenger seat for the roughly 30 minute drive home on the Old Road, at speeds of up to 55 mph. Weeeeee...

And you know what, he did fine. No major incidents. Me? I did okay, too, though I downed two beers when I got home. (The journey allows for alcohol in moderatation!)

I could take the chicken way out and delegate this job to my husband, he's anxious to take the kid out. (Guys and cars and road trips, personally I don't get it.) The destination would be reached. But the point is that's not what I signed up for. The teenager is nearly 18. What I see coming toward me is certainly not the end of my journey, but a time when there will be two rudders in the water -- each on their own journey.

I'm his mom. His parent. But in this regard I feel like his wingman. His honor guard. It's my duty to set him on his own journey and even though it pretty much scares the pee out of me. I intend to see it and savor it all the way through.

The good news is that to the point of only getting to do this parenting thing once. I have the great fortune to have not one son, but two. The other one, #1 Son, came as a package deal with my husband... which was more than fine by me. And even though he was mostly raised, just out of high school and driving like a bat out of hell when we got together, I have had the supreme honor to be a wingman at his wedding... and the birth of his son. (My peanut!)

It's exciting to see #1 Son on this journey now becaue I know what lies ahead for him. I can see it on his face when he holds that baby that he's signed on for the uber buffet, too.

And you know what that means... bonus journey for me, too.