FAMILY TIME

Traffic Stopping Memories

By Julie Ferwerda
Guest Writer

CBN.com – You might say our family does things a little "differently." We approach life with the "you only live once" mentality, especially when it comes to making memories together. For the most part, we agree that life is too short to worry about what people think. Once in awhile you have to live on the edge a little bit…do something unexpected and radical for the sake of legacy.

Our latest episode took place when my husband, Steve, and I drove two hours to the nearest city, pulling a utility trailer, to purchase some house supplies. I was driving and when we got into town, we had trouble finding the store. My husband began making his usual micro-management style "observations" and "helpful suggestions" about my driving techniques, forgetting that I have driven capably and safely for the last twenty years without his help. His back-seat driving was particularly annoying on this occasion since we were already lost. Finally, I had had enough. Stopping the car in the right turn lane of a busy intersection, I faced him.

"Look, if you think you can do a better job, feel free. I'm more than happy to let you drive." I took off my seatbelt and reached for the door while the cars behind us began to get a little impatient, craning their necks to see why we weren't turning.

"I'm not driving."

"Yes you are."

As I opened the door to switch places, I heard him call out, "I'm not driving!"

I circled around the car, amid curious stares of the many onlookers who were starting to pile up behind us. As I reached the passenger door…I heard "click."

I can't believe he just locked me out of the car! He is making a total spectacle of us! He should know by now-after four years of marriage-that it isn't going to be me who backs down. He is either going to move over and drive, or the car will have to be towed.

Standing by the passenger door, under the glares and rude gestures of the drivers behind us-deservingly so-irony broke through. I began to secretly cherish this moment…this amusing and potentially playful opportunity that could otherwise ruin a whole day. I wasn't going to miss the chance to make an extraordinary memory and I certainly wasn't going to let him win!

Much to the shock and disbelief of the hundreds of city commuters now gawking behind us, I stretched out right on the curb next to the car, as if to take a nap. Clasping my hands under my head, and crossing my legs, I donned a satisfied little smirk as if this was perfectly normal behavior. Luckily, I had the privacy of my sunglasses to hide the truth.

By this time, the cars were honking, pulling around us, and probably shouting obscenities inside their cars. I had to work hard to distract myself.

What a great way to make a silly memory, even if I have to make a total fool out of myself. A person only gets one chance to do something like this, right? I'll bet Steve never thought his wife would embarrass him like this. At least he can never accuse me of being dull or predictable! This is actually fun. I could stay here all day…oh please just hurry up and drive so I can get out of here!!

Finally my husband's voice cut into my personal pep talk from his lowered window.

"You know, you are attracting a lot of attention out there."

Duh! "Really? Well…are you going to drive?"

"No, actually…I think I'll walk." He got out of the car, gave me a few more confusing instructions about how to get even more lost, and then with a wink and a smile, started down the street. It was a strange twist to the plot. I wasn't even sure if I won or lost, but it sure made for a good story.

A few days later I was recounting my latest antic to my mother.

"Good grief. You are almost forty years old. Don't you think its time you outgrew some of these odd behaviors?"

The truth is that I still don't feel "almost forty" (thirty seven to be exact), and I pay my kids extra allowance to keep telling me how young I look. Besides, just how is a forty-year-old supposed to act anyhow? It's not like I've ever been one before! I certainly hope I don't ever grow out of these types of behaviors that have been the source of spontaneity and excitement through the years.

Like the time my husband and I bought four pairs of Groucho Marx glasses-the ones with the big nose, mustache, and furry eyebrows. When we pulled them out on our way to a local popular restaurant for dinner, the girls begged and pleaded not to be disgraced this way, to no avail. They were still young enough to be coerced. Someday they would thank us for this great family bonding experience-as long as we didn't have a run in with child protection services first. There was a "down" side though. The mustache and eyebrows were made out of light fluffy feathers that sucked up into our noses with every breath. By the end of our sneezy, sniffling dinner, our family looked like a case study group for Benedryl.

If that wasn't humiliating enough for the girls, they'll never forget the time I was a real Bozo. Surprising them one fall day, I showed up in complete clown costume at their elementary school bearing flowers and balloons. When I crashed their classes just before lunch, I've never seen so many different emotions on one face at the same time-embarrassment, amusement, disbelief, and wonder. All those expressions immediately changed to pride and ownership as hundreds of excited kids mauled me in the hall wanting to touch a "real clown." To this day, their friends still talk about the time their own personal clown came to class.

The best clown in the family is really my driving manager and husband, who is also "almost forty." He is my inspiration. He is my living example. The one time he showed up as a clown was both courageous and death-defying. The event took place at a state rodeo when he decided to have a little fun with his brother who was meeting us there from Colorado and had said jokingly on the phone, "If I have trouble finding you in the crowds, I'll just look for the clown." His brother may not have been really looking for a clown, but the rodeo officials sure were. Thinking he was lost out in the parking entrance, they kept trying to drag him into the bull ring. Would you take a clown seriously if he was kicking and screaming over your shoulder, "No, wait! I'm not who you think I am!"?

Stopping traffic was already his claim to fame even before that day I took a nap on the city curb. Cars from all over our side of town were practically paying admission to view his artistic masterpiece the time he mowed "I LOVE YOU" in HUGE letters into the entire front lawn. I think he secretly loves all the attention he gets from such crazy ideas.

His last attention-getting ploy happened this past summer when he decided to bleach his hair platinum "just for fun." I was the one carrying out the bleaching task and I just couldn't resist the temptation to take advantage of his complete trust. Thinking I was just applying a toner to his freshly bleached hair, he only raised his eyebrows when he saw the bright purple dye sitting on his head.

"Oh, don't worry…it always looks this color until you rinse it off (cackle, cackle)." Unfortunately, it came out more on the pink side…raspberry to be exact…but I hadn't used that color before so how could I know?

Before you sympathize too much with my husband and kids, they retaliate with their own bouts of impetuous behavior. Last year when I was returning home from an a week-long trip to an important, stressful, and challenging event for my professional career, I had the usual mom questions going through my mind on the way home…did the kids do okay…were they good…did they do anything out of control…? My fears were all confirmed when I drove up to the house and saw several pairs of underwear and streamers hanging from the trees. Since we live in a conservative neighborhood full of serious mature people, I wondered what in the world could have happened to provoke someone from my residence to throw underwear into trees. Marching up the steps, I was determined to "get to the bottom" of the underwear scheme.

I discovered the answer as soon as I opened the front door when a huge box of confetti dropped on my head. When I got all the confetti out of my eyes and open mouth, I noticed the signs, balloons, and streamers that literally covered every inch of the living room. "We are proud of you…Congratulations…We're glad you're home…You're the Best Mom…Great Job!" Now I understood the yard deco with the understanding that can only come to a mother. The neighbors, however, treated us…differently after that day.

Like my mom, people may look on with disdain at our seemingly outlandish behavior, thinking we are too old, or too responsible to be acting out in these ways. But these memories we share together are what make our lives special. We only live once together in this life and I want to leave a mark. I want my family to remember the stories that have brought about extravagant living and given us a reason to laugh together. I want my grandkids to hear the legends-the "tell us about the time when grandma…" kinds of stories. They are worth talking about, over and over. We may do things a little "differently," but I'm glad.

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