According to dictionary.com the definition of chauffeur is “to drive a passenger in a car, typically as part of one’s job. For 20 years, I’ve had the title of chauffeur as part of my list of credentials. For 20 years, I’ve hauled kids places. Practices, doctor appointments, dental cleanings, school, outings with friends, errands, we’ve covered many miles in several different vehicles. We went from a car and upgraded to a van for more space, then to an SUV, then back to a van for more leg room. Now days you will still find me in said van but I’m no longer chauffeuring.

Last month we hit another milestone in our house. Our son got his license. It was delayed by a few days due to a snow storm. I was okay with that, he was not. We’ve reached this milestone one other time, 4 years ago, when my daughter got her license. I can say “been there, done that” but this time hits different. This time, it’s the end of an era. This time it makes me sad. When my daughter started driving, it opened a whole new world. I had someone else in the family that could run to IGA while I was cooking dinner and short an ingredient. I had another person to rely on and one less person to run to school.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m super excited my son is driving. Of course, every time he leaves the house, I worry and track him. It’s what I do. He’s still pretty new at driving so there are a lot of rules. I’m excited for him. I’m excited I don’t have to be dressed and take him to school at 7:45. I’m thrilled I don’t have to sit in the high school parking lot for an extra 30 minutes because practice ran over. I’m overjoyed that I have another person under this roof that can run to IGA for me. But I’m also bummed.

For 20 years, those car rides provided me with a glimpse into their day. It gave me time on the way to school to make sure they were ready for the day. It gave me a few minutes after school to find out how their day went. It gave me 20 minutes on the way to town while they were trapped with me and I could ask questions they couldn’t escape. It provided me a chance to hear them talk excitedly with their friends after the school dance and listen to them spill the tea. It was an inside look that I couldn’t get elsewhere. I heard secrets and gossip and fears and joy all in those short trips. Some of my favorite conversations with my kids have happened behind the wheel. And some of my favorite jam sessions have happened on the road with them.

So I’m just gonna take a minute. Or a week. Or maybe even a month and be sad about it. And then I’m gonna need something from the store and remind myself how amazing it is. And if that doesn’t work, I can always get a job as an Uber driver. I’m sure my “goon magnet” would make for some pretty good stories.