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It is 7:38 on a Thursday morning and I am running late as usual. I glance at the clock on the dashboard before turning my head to safely back out of the driveway. I am only three minutes late and that is not enough to make it or break it for school drop off. It has been less than ten minutes since I was standing in the garage doorway, my foot propping open the door for the three blond boys that were running out to the car. My arms are loaded with lunch boxes and water bottles and as each child passes me, I hand off the food and drinks.
My car is a full-on chatter house with four little boys laughing and talking. They are all engaging in conversation at the same time and my head is beginning to pound. My 2-year-old keeps asking me in loud voice, “Is this nice, Mommy?” and immediately screams like Jim Carey in Dumb and Dumber. This makes the rest of my passengers howl with laughter. I take two fingers and gently rub the center of my forehead while breathing deeply.
Next, I announce that we should play the “I’m thinking of” game. It is our made up game, much like I spy but you don’t have to see the item that you are giving clues for. The game is a hit and everyone is taking turns. I only have to ask the boys five times to please stop choosing gas as the “thinking of” item. Another thing that I never knew prior to becoming a Mom, boys think the grossest things are also the funniest.
As I rub my left temple, an idea pops into my mind and at the next stop light, I whip out my iPod. The Star Wars theme song saves the day. I chuckle at my brilliance and I am thankful for the repeat button. I am no longer annoyed with my huband about the travel mug but instead, adore him for buying this song on itunes. Without a doubt, this download was the best $1.29 he ever spent. With the first note of this theme song, each boy, even the 2-year-old, is silent and mesmerized. Not that I don’t love talking to my kids on our morning drives but a person can only take so much of the same knock-knock joke in a twenty-five minute time span.
But with seven minutes until drop off, I need to stay focused. At every stop, I can feel a soccer ball rolling from one end of the car and back to the other. I tap my foot impatiently while waiting at a stoplight, wondering to myself if it is the longest light in the history of the world. Once the traffic starts up again, I approach a Ford with Michigan plates and swiftly change lanes. My strategy works as I glide through the last stoplight while Mr. and Mrs. Michigan slam on their brakes at yellow, stopping everyone behind them.
We pull up to school just in time. I reach onto the floor behind me for backpacks when instead of a sturdy shoulder strap, I grasp a foreign object from the car floor. What is this? An old French fry? Disgusting. Second note to self: Add clean my car to my “to do” list.
Finally, two of the boys jump out of the car, wave goodbye and run into the school play yard, laughing. Mission accomplished. My morning drive is complete. In three hours, I will do it all over again. I lay a napkin over my lap to catch the spills while I drink the last of my coffee and put the music on shuffle. On our drive home, we stop once again at a light and I glance to the car next to me. The driver is a professionally well-dressed man driving a spotless Lexus. The windows of my minivan are down and we are all singing along with Veggie Tales. As the driver next to me looks my way, his face twists into a confused expression. I smile back and shrug my shoulders without missing one word of the song.
I guess my morning commute does drive me a little insane but I wouldn’t change it.
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