I sat in the passenger seat as my youngest son drove to the meet-up for his post-secondary, dual-enrollment classes. I failed at fully restraining from jamming the ball of my foot into the floorboard and from whispering the occasional "slow down." The week before, my husband suggested that I drive him to his classes the first day. My over-protected son glowered, and I--veteran home educator of twelve years--felt my eyebrows furl. But, I was grateful for the opportunity to go on this ride-along to appease my husband, to acquiesce to my son, and to assure myself all would be well.