When your son has two BMW project cars - Day 18 of 30 day writing challenge

thinking about teenagers (and how to stay away from them)

30-Day writing challenge through Kale & Cigarettes (500 words)

I've learned how to take on chaos and turn it to calm. I have a son who drives.

He has a new BMW "project car." We (the parents) did not know this when it was presented to us by him. He already had an old BMW that his father bought him for $2500. It worked fine. He spent many hours in the garage changing out parts, painting it, rewiring it, after installing the loudest sub-woofer in the neighborhood, of course. I could hear him coming home. Then one day he announces that he knows a person with another BMW with more miles (so "it will be cheaper on your insurance, Mom") but it's better because the owner just "dropped in a new engine." He presented to us that the guy wants to do a straight trade: one car for the other. I let his dad take care of this one, after I made sure he paid $45 to see the CARFAX report, which showed that the car had a Salvaged Title and hadn't been registered in years. Hmm...

Salvaged Title means something is up

That evening, this "new" BMW shows up on a trailer being pulled by his dad's truck. "Why?" I ask. "Because it's not drivable. It just needs a tire alignment. That's it," says my son. Months have gone by, several issues uncovered and not fixed (even with multiple trips to the junk yard, diagnosis by his Autoshop high school teacher, friends who know things, and hours spent deinstalling/installing parts ordered online) and we still have both cars. He did solve many problems though and is becoming an expert. His dad had to spend hours at the DMW multiple times just to get the Title, along with 3 "Smog attempt" documents. He spent so much on it that the $1000 he ended up giving the guy was to be the final deal. So, now we have two.

My garage is the new Autoshop

My house is now the new hangout for all the boys to work on cars. They leave a lot of candy wrappers behind. One night, an old car with no hood was parked in my spot in the garage, when I arrived home. "Mom, my friend is going to park here tonight because he doesn't have a back windshield and it's going to rain." I'm so nice so I let him. I want to be a cool mom.

The "project car" still is not smogged. Why? Because the new "engine drop" did not include hooking all the sensors that the modern smog machines need in order to pass the car. Not done yet. "Why?" I ask. Because the starter doesn't work. "Get a new starter," I say. I did, but it doesn't match the flywheel. I joined an 'E30' club on the internet and now I know everything about all the parts. I need a job now to pay for all of this! Don't worry."

A mom who does yoga 2 hours every morning doesn't worry

I was ok, allowing it to remain in the garage for awhile. At least I always knew where he was: in the garage getting greasy. I bought him a 3 gallon jug of "Orange Soap" (for greasy hands). No wonder Starbucks didn't hire him afterall.

One night I go into the garage to get firewood and the car was gone. I knew that the starter didn't work so how could he drive it? It was evening. I was pissed because it's not registered and not insured. I called him up to find out he jump-started it with his friends, of course, rolling it down our hill and jumping in right on the blind corner. It's a stick shift. "It's ok, Mom, there are no cops out at night." This is after he got stopped over New Year's Eve for having a modified muffler (he paid someone $50 to cut it off so it was really loud) and driving friends in the car with him—a big No No in CA in the first year of getting your driver's license, and then got stopped in January for speeding. "Mom, I was just switching lanes. There was so much traffic. I'm going to fight this." I made him write a long letter to the judge. We are still waiting to hear back.

Two nights ago I got a call at 11:30 p.m. (I thought he was sleeping—it's a school night). "Mom, we put new tires on the E30 just to see if it works and we took the back roads to Muir beach to try it out. The wheels started falling off so we pulled over. Can you come and get us." In the middle of nowhere—between Muir Woods and Muir Beach—I drove, half asleep, to rescue my 16-year-old son who hasn't even had his driver's license for one year but could already work for BMW he knows so much. Of course, he didn't go to school the next day.

Last night I got a call at 11:45 p.m. from the police (not the first time my son has introduced me to various police officers—the first being "Ma'am your son is on the roof of Park Elementary School". He tells me "Mom, he was exaggerating."): "Are you aware that your son is out driving after 11:00 p.m. violating his provisional driver's license? And he has a friend in the car also in violation?" (yes, he knows). "Since he was so polite, I'll give him a warning because I know it will only make your insurance rates double, and you can come and pick him up." Off I go into the night again.

He is a good kid, passionate about his hobby and I love him so I smile about this.

I wake every morning at 5:00 a.m. to do Ashtanga Mysore-style yoga for a reason. It's a mandatory sanity expense. And I also take a nap every day lately. Wonder why. This is probably part #1 in a series. I'm way over 500 words.