Retirement has allowed us the freedom to bounce back and forth between locations inhabited by our children and grandchildren. Sometimes, we fly; other times, we take the long, primarily gorgeous route. We’re talking about eight delightful hours, just a scant twelve inches from each other. Can’t you feel the love? We’ve been married for almost forty-five years. One might assume we are uniquely tuned to know each other’s quirks and road preferences. But that would be assuming, and we know what that means.

In years gone by, when the five little darlings accompanied us on destinations long enough to try my patience (fifteen minutes), I was constantly distracted by the commotion emanating from the back. My neck would develop a cramp about an hour into the drive as I turned backward to threaten the perpetrators in the back seat. I’d fantasize about having an arm like Inspector Gadget, so I could say, “Go, go, gadget arm,” reach out, and whoop someone.

It was not to be. Technological advances chose to spend their energy on creating the cell phone instead. Mothers everywhere still grieve.

I’ve crawled over rows of seats at eighty mph, bent on making my point in person if necessary. It wasn’t pretty, but it was generally effective.

In the early years, when they were all under ten, I wondered how my husband could be so selfless in driving himself. My hero, the poor thing, he must be suffering from white-line fever. Isn’t he just wonderful?

It took a few years, and then I was onto his game.

Mommy, I’m hungry.

Eat a banana.

Mommy, this is boring. When do we get there?

We just backed out of the driveway. Read a book.

Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom.

I told you to pee before we left. You know the rule; pee before we go. Now you have to hold it until Denver.

My dear, sweet husband would quietly drive, hour after hour, with minimal stops, always staying within the intended destination. He would try to engage the older kids occasionally when he noticed the evil eye I was giving him.

What’s the capital of Louisiana?

New Orleans, daddy.

Nope, it’s Baton Rouge.

Name the states beginning with “M.”

By the time I had climbed over seats a half-dozen times, I was ready to change drivers and let him deal with the circus in the back. That day never happened. On the one hand, I was glad I wasn’t behind the wheel because I could not ignore the ballyhoo in the back and figure out what roads to take. He is under the impression that I pay attention when he drives, what backroads he chooses, the cloud formations he points out, or the direction we are heading. Seriously? He doesn’t have to toss snacks to the hungry lions or change a diaper while cramped between two car seats.

I don’t want the goldfish snacks, I hate those.

Why do I have to have apples? I want pears.

Mommy, Chris stinks.

Well, it’s just the two of us now, and our kids have to deal with all the clamor in their own back seats. Sweet payback. Big news: He’s decided that I can share the driving now since we have a lot of roads to cover. Golly, what changed? Could there be no longer a needy mob in the back seat? “Kings to you, Fernand!”

I’ve picked up a few quirks I had yet to notice previously that the captain possesses. Things I didn’t detect when hanging on for dear life in the fast lane.

As a retired pilot, he systematically plots the route in advance and any potential delays, road closures, or fun side trips to avoid. He pulls up gasbuddy.com to determine the best gas station on our route, refuels based on price per gallon and carefully avoids any proximity to ice cream establishments.

When he drives, he picks the most scenic and challenging roads. I am ready at my post as an excellent road attendant, offering pleasantries and a delicious assortment of food and drink. Despite my preference to bury my face in a good book, I stay alert and tuned to the man behind the wheel, making small talk, hand-feeding him grapes, and wiping the sweat from his brow. Ok, I’m kidding.

When I command the ship and sit behind the wheel, I daresay things are different.

Say, I’m getting hungry, I packed breakfast burritos for us.

Yeah, ok, in a little while, he says, returning to his phone.

I’m getting a little hungry. I also have powdered donuts. I like to interchange those with the chocolate ones. Hint, hint.

I’ll get to it in a bit. Did you see the State Trooper that pulled in behind you? You drove right past him. It’s sixty mph, FYI. You can do what you want, but the sign said sixty.

I did not see the trooper pull out, but he was tracking me. I casually put the cruise control to sixty. Can I have a donut now? I’m tempted to increase the speed to warn off my starvation. Doesn’t he know I need food to stay alert, occupied, and within the suggested speed limit?

Which way are you going to turn at the stop sign?

Whatever way you tell me. If you think I pay attention to direction, then you aren’t paying attention at all.

In about seven-eighths of a mile, you’ll take the second right and head west. I’m not telling you what to do. You can do what you want. By the way, why are you on the outside lane? I like to take the inside lane because it uses less fuel and saves miles.

Seriously, you want me to do what? How far is seven-eighth, anyway? Because you don’t want to tell me what to do, I am getting a lot of suggestions. Let me drive when I’m driving. All I want to know is where to turn. I need a donut.

I get it; we are wired differently. Captain Mark is used to going four hundred mph and scanning the skies for potential threats. He can see a grasshopper at fifty feet and assess the splatter pattern and damage to our windshield. He has been trained for decades to look miles ahead. Frankly, I’m just looking at the pretty clouds and sunflowers and eating donuts. And no, for the hundredth time, I don’t remember that we take the 17 to the 51, go north 54.095 miles, and then due west to route 251, for 2.78 miles, making a hard right between the saguaros.

He does.

There is brilliance in God’s plan for our marriage. Mark gets us to our destination in the best possible time, using minimal gas. His answer for the kids arguing in the back was to ignore it. How, I don’t know; it’s a guy thing. I engaged. My responsibilities were feeding, entertaining, and acrobatics. No wonder I never had any idea where we were going or how we got there. Expecting me to remember routes and directions is just outside my wheelhouse.

As the summer winds down, grab a donut and go on a road trip together. You will learn so much about your spouse. Be sure to enjoy the magnificent scenery God places before you each day to remind us that he loves us.

By the way-true story!

Happy trails. I would love to hear what you have observed driving with your spouse. Please share.