Micah is taking the SATs this morning. He’s been studying hard for months with an SAT tutor and on his own, focused on getting the highest score possible. Before I went for my morning run, I came across him eating a pre-test stack of Hungry Jack pancakes in the kitchen. “I should be home before you go,” I said.

“Mmm,” he replied.

As I finished my run, I was surprised to see the car backing out of the driveway. Micah passed me on the street and stopped long enough to roll down the window. “I have to pick up T.J. and Johnny,” he said.

“We’ll, good luck, honey. I know you’ll do well, “ I leaned into the open window to give him a kiss on the cheek.”

“Thanks, Ma, but I gotta go,” he said, putting his foot on the accelerator slightly before I took my head out of the window, leaving only a millimeter or two of air between me and decapitation.

I feel very fortunate that my quick reflexes averted a gruesome death, but I can’t help but think that my relief would be nothing compared to the relief Micah would feel if he knew how close he came to having to reschedule his SATs.