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My 75-year-old mother just pulled out of my driveway this morning, headed back to Texas after a brief visit.

The nice thing about a visit from Mom is that she doesn't arrive with an expectation to be entertained. Visiting my family is a pseudo business trip for her, so there's no need to wine and dine her. I've come to realize that, while Mom is resigned to the fact that her adult children live out in the world on their own, she really believes that she is the Chief Operating Officer of an organization called Our Family. She works so exhaustively while she is here evaluating our operation that she can probably write the trip off on her taxes.

She is content to ride alongside me as I run my daily errands offering an audible audit with suggestions on how to improve our overall functionality. We are assessed on categories ranging from primarily minor issues, such as profitability ("Why do you buy straws at the grocery store when you can simply grab a handful at Subway?") to potentially major and life-threatening ("Good parents don't let their children play football!!!").

Here are just a few of the oversights from this week, in which we fell well below the expectations of the corporate office.

DRIVERS ED: FAIL

Just because YOU are behind the wheel of the car, and, at a glance, appear to be the driver, one must understand that if Mom is anywhere in the car, seniority prevails and SHE is the actual driver.

Doris is the original Siri. She doesn't have to hide in your cell phone like a coward to tell you which way to turn. She tells you WHEN to turn your blinker on, WHEN to execute the turn, WHERE to park once you've mastered the turn sequence, and how close to get to the other cars around you. She expresses white-knuckles-on-the-dashboard concern each and every time I pull into my garage (a relatively unchallenging maneuver that I manage to perform successfully several times a day, even when she isn't in town). As we are driving down the road, she will often shriek loudly if another car gets within several hundred feet of us; I'm sure that's to check my responses and reflexes.

"Driving Miss Doris" is truly an interactive experience and definitely not for the easily intimidated.

CHILD PROTECTION/CHILD ENDANGERMENT: NEEDS IMPROVEMENT

In addition to our typical schedule of football practice and games, basketball practice and games, carpool, groceries and other Mother Minutia, this week provided the additional challenge of an MRI on my son's recent football injury, along with the requisite orthopedic consultations and discussions about whether or not to have a surgery, which would allow him to continue to play football in his senior year.

This afforded Mom the opportunity to assess our competence during a real-life "parenting dilemma" and grade us on our overall handling of this situation. We seemed to score slightly better here than in the driving category, but that's because my husband was involved, which falsely inflated my score. (Mom is enamored with my husband and it's quite obvious that somewhere through the years, her memory has played a trick on her and she genuinely thinks she raised HIM and didn't meet ME until our wedding).

Every conversation we had about the pros and cons of the shoulder surgery prompted Grandma to shake her head in disappointment and insert such Pearls of Wisdom as, "If he injures his shoulder again, he won't do well on the ACT and get into a good college!" Rebuttals such as, "Grandma, his shoulder doesn't affect his brain functioning," were dismissed as flimsy excuses and further evidence of weak and inept parenting skills.

HOME SECURITY: SUBSTANDARD

There was a ton of controversy a while back over security at the White House, culminating with the resignation of Julia Pierson, director of the Secret Service. The administration simply had the wrong person in charge of security detail. If you really want to keep the White House safe, fire all those Secret Service agents and hire a widow in her 70s, like Mom.

She is positively convinced that someone is attempting to break into our home, all day, every day. To steal exactly what, she doesn't say. She was appalled by our inexplicable security breeches. She kept telling me to lock the doors and finally I said (exasperated), "But Mom, Tommy is out on the driveway shooting baskets. Won't we then be, in effect, locking him out there with all the Bad Guys???" (Can I get a few points added back into my Child Protection/Child Endangerment category for this vigilant maternal observation?)

Yesterday, I took the trash can out to the street and was literally locked out of my house when I attempted to re-enter just two short minutes later. I stood there knocking on my OWN door and ringing my OWN doorbell. Eventually, she came to the door and yelled in a terrified voice, "WHO IS IT?" To which I responded (admittedly agitated), "It's me, Mom, your daughter, the homeowner." Reluctantly, she let me in.

I can't imagine how stressful it must've been for her to depart this morning and relinquish her own children and grandchildren to such an unacceptable level of reckless living standards. But, alas, she can't spend all her time in Oklahoma. She's got to get down to Texas and Louisiana, where my sister and brother are surely doing God only knows what to their kids, homes and cars.

I should probably warn my siblings to lock their doors.

- Leslie Blanchard

Leslie Blanchard is a wife of one and mother of five, who writes the blog, A Ginger Snapped: Facing The Music of Marriage And Motherhood. After she received a journalism degree, she became the "Wind Beneath My Husband's Wings" and didn't write anything for 27 years, except her family's Christmas letter. All that changed with the invention of the iPad with a waterproof cover. Now, she lays in the bathtub all day, neglecting her other responsibilities, and writes about life outside the tub. Her essays are titled after songs because, as she and her hubby puzzle through a marriage or child-rearing problem, they sing the song that particular issue reminds them of (with a pertinent lyric change here or there).