How this mother keeps from eating her young

I cannot be the only mom in this world who finds the time she spends driving in her car some of the better times during her day. And I know what you’re thinking. Really, does this woman REALLY place driving her car above all other pleasures amid her day? If you’re referring to a day of making snacks, changing dolls clothes, filling sippy-cups and playing seventeen games of Candy Land, then yes, the answer to that question is a YA-HUH!  Because I am a woman who can appreciate a restrained child.

So, on Saturday, the girls and I drove to our friends’ cabin for the weekend. Ben had some business to finish-up at home and planned on driving separately later that day. And, although I enjoy Ben’s company in the car, I was kind of looking forward to driving alone with the kids and listening to the kind of music that makes Ben rethink his feelings about me. Or at least his thoughts on commingling our music library.

People, if you haven’t driven with Duran Duran cranked, then you haven’t really lived.  Quick tangent: I campaigned hard when I was pregnant with Lexi to name her middle name “Rio.” [For those of you who were not fortunate enough to grow-up in the neon eighties, this is a Duran Duran song.] But, Ben drew a line in the sand on that one. He felt as though he’d already conceded most of his needs and wishes during my pregnancy, and was still regretting giving me the thumbs-up on those denim maternity overalls.

O.K., back to Saturday. The drive to our friends’ cabin is mostly on winding country roads, which are straddled by horse farms and dairies. I pointed to these as we passed, and the girls craned their necks around the sides of their car seats to catch a pony here and a moo cow there. And, then when they were overcome by sunshine and wind in their faces they fell asleep, leaving me with the long drive and my thoughts.

I’m telling you now, this is my meditation. This is when I get to be me and not someone’s personal nose wiper. It’s my respite from leaping to my feet every thirteen seconds to retrieve a dropped piece of fruit or to change a diaper. Because, I’ll give you the explanation I give the whining child in the backseat, “I’m in charge of a six thousand pound SUV at the moment! A little busy here! Can’t X,Y, and Z for you just now!”

It’s the time when I create and design websites, or write these posts. It’s when that part of my brain, the part that makes grocery lists and worries about paying for college, scooches over and makes space for all this artsy fartsy stuff.

It’s been like this since the beginning. I remember a few days before my first Mother’s Day, Ben asked me what I wanted to do on my “special day.” My mind ping-ponged from one side of my skull, to the other, until it composed the most awesomest of perfect days. Obviously, with that kind of description, I’m referring to hibernating in bed all day with a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and washing it down with Jack and Cokes. Sure, the plan was a little rough around the edges, but with a little massaging it could be quite spectacular.

Ben told me he couldn’t get fully behind that plan, plus it would be kind of awkward to eat Mother’s Day brunch in bed with my mom and his mom. Ever the traditionalist! With that option off the table, I told him I’d like nothing more than to aimlessly drive around and listen to music. Add a Starbucks coffee to that mix and you’re talking possible mommygasm.

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