Schooling for the Stays: A Q&A

A Q&A About the Schooling Right Now

Well, as most of you know, we’ve been homeschooling for the past six years. As it comes time that so many of my homeschooling and public school friends back in the States are starting up their school routines, it seemed like I should probably eventually just mention what we’re up to. And... drum roll, please... the three older kids are going to formal school this year!

WHAT?!? you ask. Okay, maybe that’s just me. I had to do a lot of thinking and praying and just taking deep breaths about this. It’s... different. And now for a Q&A.

Where?

A private Steiner/Waldorf school. The educational philosophy meshes with mine surprisingly well, and they do all sorts of awesome things.

Why?

Look, there are a lot of mixed up feelings about this, but I’ll try to sort some of them out. First, the facts: I had happily been planning on continuing to homeschool in Australia and had already connected a little with the homeschool community here. Then I kept on seeing Facebook stuff about the Steiner school here, and it looked honestly amazing. When we came here, there was an open house at Steiner about two weeks later, so we went to check it out.

It’s beautiful. The grounds are lovely and relaxing, the playgrounds are awesome, there’s sticks and dirt and rocks, there’s a garden and just... Well, we went and looked and I sort of teared up because I could tell it would be great, and I didn’t want to do it. The kids were excited about the possibility of another new adventure, of course, and they loved the grounds and met the teachers as well. So, to make a long story short, we signed up! They’ve been in school for term 3 for about a month now.

What’s cool about Steiner?

It’s very hippie. They have gardening, sewing, crocheting/knitting, music (the girls are doing violin, and there’s also recorder and lots of singing), morning tea (just a small snacktime in midmorning), time outside, bushwalks, festivals, etc. They do their lessons by writing their notes in big blank books and illustrating them, and the books are rather lovely in the end. The dress code doesn’t allow for branded clothing or images from movies and TV, etc. They have to wear wide-brimmed hats outside (the girls have worn them elsewhere, and many people recognize them as Steiner kids). Lunches have to be healthy, no packages and processed stuff (okay, this is honestly a pro—healthy!—and a con—eek! no bags of crisps or granola bars). It’s a very slow, rhythm-focused sort of school. Pretty much in philosophy it’s a lot of what I love about homeschooling, but I’m not doing any of it. The kindy area (and the teacher!) is so happy and soothing it makes me feel a little teary sometimes. :)

How are the kids liking it?

The kids are doing really well there so far. They love it and are having a new, very different experience. The 11yo went on a five-day class camp to Uluru and King’s Canyon, with camel and bike riding and hiking and all sorts of fun. She is also learning that the entire school day, every weekday, is tiring. She is handling it very well, though, and adjusting nicely. She got cast as Julius Caesar for their class play, and I’m definitely looking forward to seeing her get stabbed by all her classmates (as is she!).

The 8yo’s camp is coming up (a shorter camp), and she’s excited too, though a little nervous. She is my little creative dreamer, and I was worried that this transition would be hard on her. But her teacher is a lovely woman who understands that all kids have different strengths, and she’s made the 8yo feel at home and help her adjust. It’s lovely to see.

The 5yo has 3.5 days per week, and his teacher (as I already mentioned) is so fantastic. She reminds me a lot of a teacher he had at our homeschool co-op (Mary Kate, we love you!). So chill, so loving and right there with the kids, so focused in on them. Totally unflappable and really kind and just wanting to be supportive of the kids. The whole kindy area is enclosed with a fence to keep it protected and so no one can accidentally wander off, etc. There’s a huge play area with plants and buildings that you can climb in and a huge sandpit and stuff to garden and hammocks and... etc. It’s really lovely. The kids all bring a piece of fruit in the morning that gets cut up for snacks they can graze on when they’re hungry. They each have their own teacup for water. They have weekly breadmaking and a weekly vegetable soup (where the kids all bring vegetables and they make the soup). A weekly bushwalk. Lots of stories and playtime and some sewing. He is really enjoying it and seems happy to be going, and he gives me a giant hug when I come to pick him up.

This leaves me and the 3yo alone most days, which I confess is kinda hard. We’ve done errands a number of times, and we’ve done tons of baking together—more than I normally do. So there are advantages (the baking, the focused attention), but it’s also harder because I’m so used to having other kids helping to entertain him. It has been years and years since I’ve tried to do this with just one kid! It is not my favorite.

And how are you?

Well, there are lots of good things about this, but I’d be lying if I said I was thrilled about all of it. A lot of my negative feelings on the subject are wrapped in insecurities—did I do well enough with homeschooling? am I doing the right thing now? are others going to perceive this as giving up? or will they assume I have suddenly realized that homeschooling was a mistake? Blah blah blah, I could go on for hours about this. But the point is that there are lots of things I worry about, some stupid, some legit. The feelings, they are legion.

Also, I really don’t like being on the daily school schedule (though even that has its benefits—consistency in bedtime and getting up, which is a thing I’ve always struggled with). And having to prepare lunches every. single. day. is pretty much the worst thing ever (I’m only mostly kidding). And did I mention how much I dislike being on someone else’s schedule. Look, I know that’s normal for a lot of the working population of the world. But still, yuck. I almost blew a gasket the other day when I had to call my kid in sick. I am realizing more and more that I have a streak of rebellion, and I think it’s getting wider.

Did I do well enough at homeschooling?

Yes.

Am I doing the right thing now?

Yes.

Are others going to perceive this as giving up?

Maybe. But are they right? No.

Have I suddenly realized that homeschooling was a mistake?

This is possibly one of the things I hate most about the change—the idea that my friends who always thought I was crazy to do it will suddenly believe they were right. I mean, I realize this is stupid to be so worried over what people think, but there it is.

The fact is that NO, homeschooling was not a mistake. It was the right decision until now, just as Steiner is the right decision for the moment. Truthfully, my suspicion is that once this adventure is over, homeschooling will be the right decision again. (Yes, even in high school.) I think that’s the place they’ll do the best in the long run, both for themselves and for others.

Truthfully, I think that doing school for a while like this is going to give them a new appreciation for homeschooling. They knew intellectually, but not yet viscerally, about how much free time they really have always had to pursue their own interests. How little time they had to spend on formal “school” in order to finish all the work that was needed for their grade levels—or more. Now they’re learning it by experience. Both girls have mentioned that it’s so much harder to do all the things they want to do now. So we focus in on what different experiences and learning they’re getting right now—new things they hadn’t done before.

Truthfully, I may be wrong about what the future holds. I was wrong about homeschooling here, for now, so I could be wrong again. Maybe we’ll do... *tries to say the words, gasps* ... public school? (Look, I’m not trying to spit on all my friends who public school. I’m just saying it realllllly isn’t for me, and I’d rather not do it for my kids.) Maybe more private school. Maybe it will be a different style of school altogether. But I’m crossing my fingers and praying for homeschool again.

What will you do next?

Um, oops. I already answered that question above.

Time for another serious moment?

Yes.

I’m still having a lot of ups and downs about school, honestly. I see all the fun new opportunities that they have, and I’m happy about it. I see all the things that they’re missing out on, and I’m sad about it. I get asked what school my kids are in, and it just about kills me that I can just name a school instead of saying, “Oh, we homeschool.” I had no idea how much of my identity had been tied to homeschooling until I voluntarily relinquished it. It has, honestly, left a gaping hole. I’m still figuring out how to fill that and how to leave room for change in the future. The old adage about “the one constant is change,” blah blah blah... I’ve never been great with change, so I’m stretching those muscles and trying some new things. It’s hard, and I miss who I was. But I’ve always really liked Elastigirl, so maybe this is my chance to learn to be more stretchy.

But honestly, don’t you just love having everyone gone from home?

Ummm, the 3yo is still home. So it doesn’t really count. (And no, not really.)

Summary statement?

Change and flexibility and growth: good. Having to pack daily lunches: bad. Outsourcing lunch packing to children: good. Never getting to pack crisps or juice boxes: bad and good. Learning to make healthy muffins and yogurt and whole wheat bread: good.

Net effect of learning to change and do something new: grudgingly good.

How Goes the Driving These Days? A Tale of Terror

[insert the usual self-flagellation and apologies about how long it’s been since I posted here... moving on]

Hey, remember how I’m totally driving phobic* and it took me forever to get my driver’s license?** Well, lately I’ve been thinking a lot about how far I am from that time. It’s been about ten-ish years since I finally got my license (after flunking the driving test the first time, as an adult with a new baby, and feeling utterly humiliated). I drive most everywhere I need to drive these days, but I don’t drive into Baltimore. At all.*** Thanks to the GPS, I also drive a few places where I’ve never been and I’ve even survived getting lost a few times. I’m so much more functional when it comes to driving that I don’t actually even have to think about my fear on a regular basis.

But then things happen that remind me, and I’m back to remembering what a quivering mess I can be when it comes to driving.

Yesterday was our homeschool co-op’s winter showcase (a social gathering where the kids show off cool stuff they’ve done), and I’d been secretly hoping all day that it would simply be postponed so I wouldn’t have to drive through potentially dangerous, slushy, and slick weather to get to somewhere I’ve never driven before (a major trigger for my fear). But the weather held off, so I had no excuse to not go. It was only mildly raining when we headed out and got on the freeway.

My windshield wiper made a couple weird noises and wasn’t working great, but at least it was working, so I just carried on and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as I listened to my GPS (I had, of course, already read all the directions in preparation for the drive) and as it started raining a bit more. Then, as things were going along smoothly, suddenly my windshield wiper pivoted, popped off, and flew past me into the road (sorry, driver behind me!).

Well, of course my adrenaline shot up and I mentally freaked out, but I think I did a surprisingly good job of sounding calm as I asked one of the kids to offer us a prayer of safety. Meanwhile, I leaned over so that I could see through the windshield at least a little, and I tried to adjust my driving so that I didn’t steer into another lane.

Long story short: We made it to the activity safely, but I was internally panicking and trying to figure out how we were going to get home. I looked around the co-op group for anyone who knew how to fix windshield wipers, but I didn’t explain things well, and no one could help. I looked up an auto supply store nearby (it was only a four-minute drive away) and considering driving there to pick up a part. But I was honestly too panicked right then to be willing to make even that tiny drive (and also I really didn’t want to miss Coriel’s choir performance; that was pretty much the only reason we went in the first place).

So I texted Brice, who was at a meeting that he needed to be at (stake conference), and he ended up coming to my rescue.**** He came, bought the part, fixed it, and helped take care of the kids until the end of the activity.

And then I had to drive back home (because of course Brice couldn’t drive both cars). In the dark. In the rain. On a badly lit, badly marked freeway section that I rarely drove. But at least I had working windshield wipers!

By the time we got home, I had to hide in the bathroom and take deep breaths for a while.

So that’s how I know the phobia isn’t gone, but it’s also so much more manageable than it used to be, and I’m really grateful for that. (Although, who knows? Pretty soon I’m going to have to learn to drive on the left side of the road, so the situation is ripe for plenty more trauma!)

The End

* If this is the first time you’re checking in on the subject, I’m not talking about a minor inconvenience here. I’m talking about how I was diagnosably phobic about driving for many years and how I have only overcome it slowly and now it is more of an inconvenience most of the time, but it still keeps me from doing a lot of things that I wish I were okay with doing.

** Full disclosure: It didn’t start out as a blinding phobia. It started out as not having good enough eyesight, not having practiced driving enough, a strong discomfort with driving, and not having money or oomph to deal with any of these things. The debilitating phobia built up over the next few years.

*** I did once, trying to be brave, and it was a white knuckle disaster that involved a terrible, terrifying blind left turn and almost backing into a lady with a stroller. That pretty much ended my Baltimore driving days.

**** And yes, I feel utterly idiotic about that and I had to remind myself multiple times that I’m not a total loser and that I really am so much better about driving than I used to be, and Brice was very kind about it and very reassuring, but it’s hard to talk over the voices in someone else’s head, you know?

How Goes the Pregnancy?

This is pretty much everyone’s favorite question when they see me. How are you doing? How’s the baby? Fine, fine, fine, all good. And it really is, overall. But in case you’re interested in the long version, here it is:

1. No internal heater. When people hear that you’re going to be super pregnant in the summer, they say, “Oh, that’s rough, you’re going to be so overheated!” When they hear it will be winter, they say, “Awesome, at least you’ll have an internal heater.” I have never experienced this phenomenon. In fact, I have felt generally colder during my two winter pregnancies, and even when I was massive in the muggy, new-to-me Maryland heat, I didn’t feel like it was any worse than when I wasn’t pregnant. I was expressing this to Brice, and he said, “You do have an internal baby heater. It’s just broken.” Well, that explains it then.

2. Emotional hostage. Here’s how I said this to the world of Facebook: “The baby has apparently taken my hormones and emotional regulation abilities hostage.” In practice this means that I am crying over some really dumb stuff lately. Like when my shower towel is too stinky. Or when I think about a story that I was going to write but didn’t. Or, you know, when I slightly overcook the grilled cheese sandwiches. (Even dumber stuff too, like fuzzy socks or the girls’ cute fashions, etc.) And then of course I also bawl over the not-dumb stuff, like when I’m tired and the girls have made a massive mess in their bedroom ten minutes after we’d just cleaned it up beautifully. Or when I am hungry but queasy and I can’t think of what to cook. Or when I’m stressing out about what it’s going to be like to have four kids. Which leads me to numbers 3 and 4 . . .

3. Nausea. So, I spent about a month and half feeling pretty decent most of the time. A couple bouts of queasiness here and there, but overall pretty great. And also not yet super uncomfortable, and also not super tired anymore. Of course, every time I started gloating about how I was feeling, I had a massive patch of vomiting (keeping me nice and humble!), but overall, I was doing well. Well, it seems we’re back to some fairly frequent queasiness again (though it is still low-grade and really nothing compared to women who actually have difficult pregnancies). And guess what are the two main things that help? Eating and lying down. As in, as long as I’m eating food, I feel fine. As soon as I stop, not so much. And then, after I eat, if I lie down for ten minutes or so, I feel better. So between these and just, you know, being pregnant, I’m pretty much going to explode into whale proportions.

Also, as of yesterday, it had been quite nearly a month since I had thrown up. And then came this month’s stomach bug, which has so far gotten four of the five of us. I can’t really tell, though, if my throwing up was because of 1: being sick; 2: pregnancy; or 3: having to clean up someone else’s vomit (honestly, Brice is the designated cleaner-upper in our house—for which he should be sainted—because I can’t stand it at all).

4. Four kids, plus labor and newborn stage and all that jazz. This should probably be broken down into two items, and I could actually write a whole blog post about it, but you’d get bored. So here’s the summary: Coriel’s labor: really hard. Addra’s: really easy. Koa’s: pretty hard. I’m freaking out that baby #4 will be more inclined to take after Coriel and Koa. But even if he’s not, “really easy” was still quite painful during the process. And then the newborn stage is insanely difficult for me (and when I say “newborn,” I mean “first two years at least”). I have, by and large, been not thinking about it all. Because every time I do, I become a major watering pot. I told Brice the other day that there should be a disorder called “pre-traumatic stress syndrome.” His response was, “Yeah, it’s called anxiety.” Which I guess is sort of true, but whatever it’s called, I’ve got a lot of stress and/or terror about labor/babyhood and then just plain being able to manage four kids.

At which point, someone reading this is thinking, “Well, then, you shouldn’t have had the fourth kid.” And my explanation may be hard to understand if you don’t believe in God the way that I do—because both Brice and I feel strongly that this was the right decision for our family, a prompting from God, even though it may be hard. So here’s a different way to look at it. Even if you don’t believe that God speaks directly to individuals to help and guide them, have you ever done something that you thought was hard and scary but you did it anyway because you felt like it would be a good thing? Maybe it was a job application, a college application, asking a specific person on a date, moving across country, training for a marathon. In so many of these cases, we take the plunge even if we don’t feel ready, even if we’re not sure we can handle it, because we believe it’s the best choice. And so here we all are, with me both pregnant and also freaking out. Because the bottom line is that even though I don’t feel ready, even though I’m pretty much terrified, I believe it’s the right choice and that when we make good, hard decisions, God makes it possible for us to do what is required.

5. Baby names—eek! It has already been pointed out to us from several sources (my sister K being the first) that if we name #4 a name that starts with E, our children will spell out CAKE. Now, I’m sure you can guess that this is the most important consideration in finding a baby name. Who doesn’t want their children to spell out a delicious dessert? So we’ve had quite a few E suggestions. Which is good, because at the rate we’re going, we’ll have to look through approximately a billion names to find two that we can sort of agree on. This baby had just better help us when he gets here, because so far the naming process is tough.

And that, my friends and foo, is how the pregnancy is really going. Thanks for asking! :)

The Birth Story, Part IV: In Which There Is Pushing. And Also a Baby

By the end of this blog post,
he will finally have arrived!

Note: You can find part I here, part II here, and part III here.

Finally, the pushing! Ah, sigh. Pushing. It just feels so lovely after all of those other contractions. Doing something! Progress! The end in sight! After the first unmistakable need to push, I turned to Brice calmly (it felt calm, anyway; I have no idea how I actually sounded) and said, “If the girls are going to be here for the birth, you’d better go get them.”

They were awfully enchanted with him.

I may have forgotten to mention it, but the girls were there the whole day—watching movies, playing, talking with and entertaining all our guests. Oh, I suppose the guests entertained them too, especially Meghan with the giant muffins and donuts she brought. Also, she brought a gift for the baby—a little bouncy seat that they all put together in the living room while I was off in my room doing the actual, you know, work.

So Brice got them from wherever they were, and the pushing continued. When you take those birthing classes, they always talk about the “ring of fire”—“Oh, I felt that ring of fire, and I just wanted to die! It was the worst!” and “There will be a terrible burning sensation!” After two other births and no noticeable “ring of fire,” I was a little puzzled about what was the big deal.

And then I felt it, and my detached, clinical brain said, “Oh, so that’s what it feels like. I see. Yes, that is rather unpleasant. Hmmm . . . I wonder how long it will last.” Meanwhile, my body was saying something more like, “Egad!” And then my brain said, “Well, it’s gonna have to last through at least one more push because I am not about to shove this baby out before he’s ready and tear things up down there.” So, when the contraction stopped, I stopped pushing. I must say, I am rather pleased and proud of myself for this bit. Even in that moment I was feeling pretty cool. Look at me, I thought, just sitting here calm as you please, waiting for the next urge to push, while my nether regions are totally aflame.

It must be stated that Meghan agreed. In one of several awkward post-game wrap-ups that we had in the weeks after the fact, she said something like, “Well, this is weird, but I was really impressed with the way you pushed.” Thank you, thank you, take a bow.*

Addra told me just today, "I didn't want
to touch him because of all that white
stuff." Then I got to teach her about
how awesome vernix is.

Then he was out, sounding like a newborn (actually, I have no idea if he squealed or not), looking like a newborn with all that lovely mushroom-colored, white-goo-covered skin. And he was on my chest and I was staring at him—this amazing, beautiful creature who came out of me. I made him! He is mine. I pulled him up to me and stared and stared and stared. He was gorgeous. Gorgeous and—

Egad!

Neither of us looks particularly happy at the moment.

If you look at the pictures of us together right after he was born, I do not look pleased to see him. I’m sorry to say that I think only one of those pictures finds me with anything other than a major league grimace on my face. And I have one word to explain this: afterpains. It is such a rude awakening to be sitting there, gazing in a mommy haze of adoration at this new life, thinking it’s over. You have gained the prize. And then the contractions start again and you remember you still have to birth the placenta. And your uterus has to shrink. And there’s all the blood and whatnot to expel. And and and . . . You’re definitely not done yet.

So while I may be grimacing in these photos, I’m also drinking him in—this creature I have sacrificed and suffered for, who I will continue to change and stretch and grow for. Inside I’m utterly and infinitely in love with this little messy, gloppy, floppy creature I hold in my arms.

And in truth, I still am.

P.S. But wait! There’s more! If you still haven’t had enough, I’ve got a post-game wrap-up post coming soon. Just to answer all those exciting questions you’re wondering about, like, “What good is hydrogen peroxide?” and “Were your kids traumatized for life?” and “How do you feel about old lady panties?”**

* I love the number of conversations we have that start with, “Well, this is weird, but . . . ” That’s some serious friendship going on. 
** Just kidding, I have no opinions to offer you on old lady panties. At least not in public.

The Birth Story, Part III: Picking Up Steam

Note: You can find part I here and part II here.

Further note: If you are inclined to be judgey about the decision to forgo pain meds, feel free to skip part III. Here is where I tell you how much it hurt and also that I am not a warrior about pain. But I am not really interested in being an example you can point to and say, “See! Not getting an epidural is crazy!” Plus, despite the pain, I would still choose this again.

Further further note: You may have noticed that Brice doesn’t feature prominently in this narrative. This is because, for the most part, Brice was just doing what he does best: quietly going about doing good. He was just there, you know, present with me, without getting in the way.* You can tell from the pictures how much he was a part of labor, but there are very few specific things I can point to and say, “Brice did this.” Mostly he just was. Which is exactly what I needed.

 

Finally, around 4 p.m., things went from sunny to doomy. Ahem, I mean that labor picked up. By which I really mean that I started whimpering and crying and saying, “No, no, no” repeatedly and despairingly. I mean really. I have distance from the whole experience now, which is why I can look at it and laugh, but in those moments it felt like my whole soul was saying, “No.” It felt like my whole world had narrowed down to just one unending contraction. It felt like this would never stop.

You want to know how desperate I was? When Susan suggested that she could check and see if I had a cervical lip in the way of pushing, I said okay. So here’s a bit of information about me: I do not—DO NOT—like cervical checks. When I’m asked what was the worst part of labor with Coriel, I can say without a nanosecond of hesitation, “Cervical checks.” (And that’s saying something, because labor with Coriel was pretty darn hard.) I didn’t get a single check with Addra, and that was bliss.

I am definitely not feeling good.

After I said okay, I also said, “But if you check and I’m only dilated to, like, a six, just lie to me.”

Here’s what she said after she checked: “Well, you’re not quite ready to push yet.” (I asked her later, in a postpartum checkup; she said I was dilated to about seven.)

You’re probably wondering about now why I would choose to do all of this stuff when there are awesome things like epidurals in the world. Well, that’s a complicated question with many answers. The short one: I think it’s better for me and for the baby.** Also, pain isn’t the end of the world, not even bad bad pain.

Speaking of pain, though, I never hopped in the shower! Ridiculous me. Showering was the epic relief that made Addra’s birth pretty much a cakewalk. (Which is only slightly overstating the case.) I remember that Laurie suggested it once or twice (her recollection: “I kept telling you to get in the shower”). And I remember that all I could think was how hard it would be to get in the shower. And how hard it would be to get back out. All that stepping over bathtub ledges as if they were the Great Wall of China or something. You can’t be asking me to do that sort of crazy hurdling when I’m in labor! And for what? Any minute now, I would feel the need to push. So instead I dithered around, forgetting that contractions do stop occasionally (no, not really in this case; I swear I was in transition—unending waves of contractions—for endless hours). Forgetting that the feeling of water beating down on my back might be lovely. That if I couldn’t pick my leg up to get over the ledge, someone would do it for me (because labor isn’t really weird enough without other people picking up your body parts for you). So, um, no shower.

And really, while I was in it, that time did seem to last forever—wave upon wave of contraction, with not even a long enough break in between to properly use the bathroom. (Come on, I would say, sitting on the toilet. Really? You couldn’t just wait for thirty seconds?) Now, outside of those moments, I realize it was only about three hours, maybe four at the outside, of really intense labor. But such is the nature of reality—it isn’t always helpful when you’re in it.

Scootching off the pillow again.

Eventually I was in sheer misery mode, whimpering “no” in a pathetic voice over and over again (no strong, Amazonian roars for me!), and I was lying in my bed. I repeat: I was lying in my bed. On my back! The horror! I used to see the occasional birth photos of other women lying on their backs straining and pushing, and I would think sanctimoniously, “Well, if you’d just get off your back, everything would be much easier. I had Addra kneeling beside my bed, and it was awesome. I would never give birth lying on my back.” Ha! As I lay on the bed, everyone kept trying to prop me up with pillows or suggest different positions. I would pretend I didn’t hear them and then slowly scootch myself sideways off the pillows until I was sort of leaning sideways but definitely on my back. It was the only thing that was even vaguely comfortable (emphasis on “vaguely”). So much for the virtues of gravity in labor, that’s all I have to say.

Stay tuned for part IV, in which things get even more hairy.

* Well, except for one or two contractions where he misjudged that I needed a massage or a hand on my abdomen when what I really wanted was not to be touched—and also to rip his head off and throw it out the window. But hey, no one’s perfect, not even Brice.

** Again, please remember I’m not judging you or anyone else for doing something different. NO JUDGEY!

Brake Pads

Note: Even though my crazy driving phobia rears its ugly head here again, what this post is really about is gratitude and blessings. Feel free to not comment on my personal baggage.

About a month ago, when I stopped at an intersection on my way to a church activity, the brakes gave off the most dreadful grinding, screeching sound. It had been a tiring day, and since driving still terrifies me on a fairly regular basis, I almost turned around and drove (carefully) right back home. Instead I just pulled over, freaked out a little (a lot), and tested the brakes in the parking lot for a few minutes before eventually driving on. At the activity that night, I mentioned the experience and a friend suggested, from experience, that it was the brake pads. The next day we took the car to the mechanic, and we got ourselves some new brake pads.

Fast forward to a week ago. I’d just visited a friend’s yard sale and was on my way home (down Ritchie Highway) with another friend following behind me, lugging a chair for me in her van.

The roads weren’t particularly busy that morning, but Ritchie is a 45-mph, multilane road, and I was going along briskly when, far in front of me (but not far enough for this to be a good idea), a fellow started across the road from the right lane. I was in the far left lane, so I figured that by the time he got to my lane he would speed up to cross ahead of me or stop in the lane before mine so I could pass. Either way was kind of a lousy idea for him, but whatever.

I kept watching him for signs of hesitation or even any recognition that I was coming toward him. This all, of course, happened very quickly (as things tend to at car speeds), and in the meantime I was slowing down just a bit to see what he would do. It had not yet entered my mind that he would completely ignore the car hurtling toward him—not even turn his head to “look both ways” a single time before continuing to mosey into my lane of traffic.

When he did so, I panicked. I started braking hard and fast. Really, really hard and fast. I screamed. I didn’t honk, which was unfortunate (but all my brain could process was to stop the car). I didn’t swerve, which I probably could have done (but again, the brain processing thing). I just screamed and braked.

You know those scenes you see in the movies where the car hits a pedestrian, and the body rolls up the windshield and bounces over the car? This is the scene that was playing through my mind in those brief moments. I was absolutely certain I was going to hit this man. Did I mention I used to have nightmares about driving? A lot. I still do, occasionally, but they don’t usually have quite the same punch they used to. Anyway, this would have been one of those nightmares, only without the lovely waking up part.

Guess how close I got to hitting him?

Well, the car completely stopped (thank you, Elissa, for not following me very closely in your van—I’m glad you didn’t crash into me when I stopped). The man still had not turned to look in my direction, not once. But he finally did turn to look at me when he walked into the corner of my bumper.

He had gone all the way across the lane in front of me, but then he veered just enough toward me to tap into the far left side of the car, after I had barely stopped. And you know how sometimes when you bump into a table accidentally, you sort of turn toward it and say “Oops” or something equally brilliant?* That’s when this man I’d almost run down turned and saw me for the first time, with something like surprise in his eyes.

After a moment in which we looked at each other and perhaps pondered our own mortality, he moved on and I drove away.

I am so grateful for new brake pads. I’m grateful that I was the one driving the car when the original grinding sound occurred. Brice knows my driving issues, and so I think he was very quick to allay my worries and go to the mechanic. I don’t know how long the brake pads still would have worked reasonably well, or how long we would have put off the trip to the mechanic, but I know they wouldn’t have worked well enough for this. I also doubt the brakes on the other car would have been good enough; for this moment, we needed new brake pads. I am certain that God was protecting me from an event that would have utterly shattered me (not to mention—I add with a bit of morbid levity—him). I’m grateful Elissa was driving far behind me. I’m grateful that despite my frozen brain and unimpressive panicked reactions, I still was blessed to do just enough to avoid hitting him.

The safety of this moment was nothing less than a miracle, and I am grateful.

Joe Junior, who (incidentally) looks nothing like the pedestrian.

*In a comical turn of events, I was reminded of the moment in While You Were Sleeping when Joe Junior bumps into a tree branch with his New Year’s party hat and apologizes to the tree. I watch too many movies.