There's something very strange about sitting in the passenger seat while your fifteen-year-old drives. No doubt you’ll have flashbacks of teaching them how to hold a spoon or sit on the potty. Now suddenly, that same kid is operating a motor vehicle and passing oncoming traffic at 55+ miles-per-hour.

How does a mom keep her cool during such stressful situations? I'm still learning how to do it. But with the my second kid behind the wheel, I can share a few tips that I've found helpful.

Check out my post over at the Quad City Moms blog ... Five Ways to Keep Your Cool When Your Teen Starts Driving.

Normally, I’m not one who climbs onto a soapbox to complain about stuff. I’m a laid-back, go-with-the-flow kind of gal. Unless it’s an issue that hits super-close to my heart.
 
So, what’s close to my heart?
 
Well, for one … raising three girls to the best of my ability.
 
And when something (or someone) comes along and tries to undermine me in that mission, I feel the need to speak up. So here I go … speaking up.  

Dear Hardees,
 
I want you to know that I haven’t eaten at one of your restaurants in a very long time. Decades, actually. And I want you to know why. Your commercials make me want to lose my lunch.
 
Let’s start with the fact that they are so ridiculously unrealistic. Seriously. I’ve eaten a lot of cheeseburgers, but not once have I felt the need to throw on a string bikini, bend over in some awkwardly provocative position and pretend to seduce my sandwich.
 
I mean, seriously. Who does that?
 
I have to wonder, is that really the best you’ve got? Is your advertising staff so lazy and uncreative that they have to resort to inappropriate ads to get our attention? I know, sex sells, right? Well, I’m not buying it.
 
I can already imagine what you are thinking. Lighten up, lady.
 
Let me explain why I won't take your nasty commercials lightly. Emily. Taylor. Madison. My three daughters. For the past 18 years, I’ve had the monumental task of raising them to be confident, self-respecting, strong women.
 
And I take that job very seriously.
 
Then you came along and tried to annihilate all my hard work. Your commercials contribute to so many struggles that girls face today. Poor body image. Eating disorders. Feelings of inadequacy. Depression. Obsession with diets.

I understand that the models you use aren’t actually as perfect as they look on TV – but little girls don’t. When they see your commercials, they see an impossible standard of beauty. A “beauty” they could never attain – because it isn’t even real.   
 
Little girls grow up believing they need to dress or act like the women in your commercials. They mistakenly believe the only way to feel important or valuable is to draw attention to their bodies.    
 
And here’s another thing that really annoys me. One minute my family might be watching the Super Bowl or the Olympics, the next minute, we've got women hanging out (literally) in skimpy lingerie and chatting about three-ways. By the way, thanks. That wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with my eleven-year-old.
 
I remember the model in your commercial … staring seductively into the camera while saying, “It’s called a three-way burger. What did you expect?”
 
Well, Hardees, I expect you to show some courtesy toward women. I expect that, while watching family-oriented shows with my kids, I won’t be bombarded by images of bare breasts and sexual innuendoes. I also expect you to actually promote the product you’re selling. Remember? Hamburgers.
 
Selling burgers doesn’t give you the right to treat women like a piece of meat. Your commercials aren’t entertaining or clever. They are disgusting and I want you to stop it.
 
Stop undermining what I’m trying to teach my daughters. Stop lying to women. And for heaven’s sake, stop grossing me out.
 
Do I sound a bit harsh? I hope so. After all, I am the mother of three girls. What did you expect?

My ninety-year-old grandmother sat on her bed and watched my mom pull a pink sweater out of a dresser drawer. Grandma wobbled over to Mom, inspecting her every move.
 
“What are you doing?”
 
“I’m writing your name on the tag.” Mom picked up a black permanent marker. “See here, G-L-A-D-Y-S,” Mom said, spelling it out. “We don’t want your clothes to get lost at the nursing home.”
 
Grandma’s blank expression confirmed Mom’s suspicion. She didn’t understand. If she had, she would have argued.
 
For many years, our family had worked hard to keep Grandma and Grandpa in their home. But with Grandpa’s physical limitations and Grandma’s dementia, it was no longer possible. Finally, my mom and her siblings sat down with my grandparents for a difficult conversation.
 
Grandpa wasn’t pleased with the decision, but he knew what must be done. He also knew that convincing Grandma would be no small task. She hadn’t even liked it when they hired a caretaker a few months back. She especially didn’t like “that woman” fussing over Grandpa. After all, Grandma had taken care of him for the last seventy-one years. She wasn’t about to quit now.
 
“I have a home,” Grandma said, folding her arms like a strong-willed two-year-old. She didn’t want to hear any more about nursing homes.
 
But moving day had come all too soon.  
 
Mom grabbed a stack of clothes off the bed and checked her watch. “We’d better go.”
 
My grandpa and aunt were already making their way toward the door. Grandpa hunched over his walker and shuffled tiny, slow steps. Janet walked behind, making sure he didn’t lose his balance. Meanwhile, Mom tried to gently usher Grandma along.
 
“I have a home,” Grandma repeated, shaking her head. As soon as they reached the door, Grandma stopped.
 
“I am not doing this.” Grandma’s eyebrows furrowed with determination.  
 
My aunt and mom exchanged looks. They didn’t want to upset her. Of course, they didn’t want to force her. But what could they do? Grandpa looked back from his walker.
 
“I need you with me, Gladdy.”
 
Grandma hesitated for a moment, then followed Grandpa out the door and into the car.
 
Grandma stared out the window from the backseat. They passed the small country church my grandparents had attended for seventy years.
 
“Where are we?” Grandma asked. Janet tried to distract her. She dug through her purse, found a mint and gave it to Grandma.
 
Meanwhile, my mom worried. It had already been such a difficult day, but what if the worst was yet to come? How would Grandma react when they got to the nursing home? What if she got upset and refused to stay?  
 
Grandma interrupted Mom’s thoughts. “I don’t like this.”
 
Janet touched Grandma’s arm. “I know you don’t, Mom. We don’t like it either, but you know it’s for the …”  
 
Just then Mom noticed the sour expression on Grandma’s face. Grandma spit the mint into her shaky hand, rolled down the window and tossed it outside.
 
Suddenly, Mom and Janet looked at one another and broke into spontaneous laughter. Grandma wasn’t referring to the nursing home; she was talking about the mint. They shook their heads and laughed some more.
 
They probably looked strange, sharing that unexpected laugh in the midst of such a difficult day. But at that moment, laughter was exactly what they needed. It broke the tension. It added a little joy.

I love this story because it’s a great reminder for all of us. Even in the midst of the most difficult days, there’s always room for a little joy.
 
My challenge this week? No matter how bad the day (or how difficult the decision) I will be looking for those small moments of joy.