So on Easter weekend we made the big drive down to Southern Ontario, and Sir Monkeypants did all of the driving. He prefers it that way — he likes to have something to occupy himself during the drive, and we have to stop so often now that he gets plenty of chances to rest and stretch. He really does not make a good passenger-seat parent. He’s great at amusing the kids with funny faces and peekaboo games, but he can only do that for so long before he gets tired, and then he is forced to resort to Mommy-style entertainment, which involves passing the kids something new every 30 seconds, as so:

“I want my snack box.”
“I need some juice.”
“I’m done with my snack, I want my craft box.”
“I want mine too!”
“This box is bothering me, can you take it?”
“I need a MagnaDoodle.”
“Can I have my snack box?”
“Can we watch a movie?”
“I need some water.”
“It’s too sunny! I need sunglasses!”
“The Wee One had a barf!”

And so on. Sir Monkeypants can only take about three minutes of this before he bellows at everyone to BE QUIET, and then I have to pull over so he can resume driving.

On the rare occasion when I do drive during these long trips — usually when Sir Monkeypants is sick, which is maybe a third of the time when we go down — it’s a bit of a challenge for me because I don’t do much highway driving anymore. People have been telling me for years that I am not a good driver and although in my heart of hearts I do not believe them, when enough people tell you something you kind of have to admit that maybe you should do something about it. Sir Monkeypants in particular used to hate how I could not maintain a constant speed on the highway, and how I did not properly anticipate the need to pass, so I’d zoom up behind a truck and then have to brake while I waited for a chance to merge and then zoom forward again, all of which did not exactly help him relax and unwind.

A few years ago, before the kids were born, we drove out to the Maritimes, and during this trip I perfected a technique that I like to call The Driving Buddy. I find someone who is travelling at about the same speed as me, who seems like they know what they are doing…and I follow them. When they signal to pass, I do too. When they pull back in, I do too. I maintain a respectable five-car-length distance and then just track them, so my speed remains relatively constant. They’re my Driving Buddy.

Now that I think about it, it does seem kind of scary that I am leaving all the driving decisions to a stranger, who is not even in my own car. Huh. No wonder they say I’m a bad driver!

It’s tough to find just the right Buddy — you’re looking for someone who is a perfect fit when it comes to speed and style, and preferably provides a nice behind to look at, as well. A funny personalized license plate, for example, can never hurt. Someone who matches your exact make and model (known as a “sister car” by our kids) is a nice choice. Ideally it should be someone who is in it for the long haul, who is making a similar epic journey (look for a backseat crammed full with pillows and toys), who you can follow for hours and then give a little nod to when you both stop at the same rest stop. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out — he’s too slow, you’re too slow, he’s losing focus and not keeping his speed up — and you just have to let the Buddy go and find a new one.

On our last trip down I did a little of the driving and I noticed something — my Driving Buddies have really dropped in league. It’s not like I thought I’d hook up with a zippy sports car or a fancy 4×4 or anything like that, but I expected at least a nice Acura or maybe another minivan. It turns out that my Buddies are pretty much limited to 18-wheelers and Winnebegos. I can no longer run with the young, fast crowd. It’s yet another example of how I have aged. They’re probably all listening to talk radio and wondering if they should dye their hair, too.

I really need to get some hipper new CDs for the car.