I fetch kids from school on Friday, get everyone in the car.
I must confess I am starting to view “fetching kids from school” as an hour or so of hell. I am quite willing to outsource it right now.
I would actually seriously think about boarding school – for me, or them, so that I do not have to do the hour of child-pick-up-and-drop-off-hell every day.
Before you start tutting and clicking your tongue in judgement, please bear in mind that I am in about my 10th year of this driving back and forwards shit, and at a certain time, the shine it does go.
Believe me, it goes.
The problem right now, is that the moment my brood are in the car, the arguing starts. The insane conversations. All of them trying to talk to me at once. All of them wanting something different from me whilst I am attempting to drive.
I can take shoes off kids – I am driving, kids are in the backseat, I can glance through school notes, I can adjust the sound on my radio, and I can hold two separate conversations, one normally about fish, the other about smurfs, and all of this whilst I try to negotiate traffic at two really busy intersections.
I can do all of the above, and peel and eat a banana, and it is not illegal, but I cannot talk on my cell phone as that is deemed too distracting and dangerous.
I don’t disagree with the “no cell phone” law, but the government should intervene and get fathers to drive kids home from school at least two days a week, so they can understand and appreciate what it is like, and then they can understand why
moms me drink copious amounts of wine, and sit rocking themselves in the corner.
10 years of this mania, twice a day, in a sealed car, with the high-pitched chatter of kid’s voices = no wonder I am on medication and have developed a few coping mechanisms.
But moving along. So Friday we are in the car ….
Connor: “I don’t want to be rude, but when you got into the car, it went down a bit….”
Connor: “I was putting my bag in the boot, and when you got in to the car, I felt it go lower…. you know when you got in to it …. I don’t mean to be rude …..”
Me – glaring at him: “Great, thanks for telling me that, you are rude actually… next time think it, and don’t say it. Good grief Connor – do you mind leaning forward so I can smack you on the back of the head? Good grief……”
<<while I feel my soul die slightly inside and I start to rethink who is my favourite child>>
Georgia:”It IS RUDE Connor!!”
Connor: ‘GEORGIA!! …”
Georgia:”You are being rude, only adults can say that people are fat….”
Me: “Guys, guys, GUYS …GUYS please do not start fighting …. please, can we just get home without a fight….”
Me: “Connor, what the hell….”
Georgia: “It is rude to say someone is fat, you can’t say fat ….. Daddy is fat, but that is a bad word, so I tell Daddy that he is round ….”
Connor: “Georgia, that IS RUDE, you can’t say that Daddy is round …… that is rude. Daddy is big-boned!”
Georgia: “NO HE ISN’T …. he is too round and I cannot feel his bones. I am boney and you can feel me through my skin, I can’t feel Daddy through his skin…he is not big-boned …. he is round like a circle shape …”
<<me, sort of glad that the focus has moved away from my fat arse and how I make the car go lower when I sit in it….>>
Connor: “You are being rude Georgia …”
Georgia: “Mommy you know what I tell Daddy when I am being rude?”
Me: “No Georgia, what do you say?”
Georgia: “When someone is rude to you, the hurt is not important, what is important is the love ….”
Me: “Yes, Georgia, I think that will make him feel a lot better …… can we carry on now and go to McDonalds for dinner…?”