Parents spend a lot of time in the car. Driving kids to and from school, practices, games, and meetings. To their friends houses, the movies, and the mall. We drive to the doctor, dentist, orthodontist, and hair dresser. We load up the car with groceries after we’ve stopped at Home Depot, Target, and the post office.
We are always on the go.
No matter how nice your car is or how well your kids behave (which is wholly dependent on the amount of in-car entertainment you provide) it’s tiresome. I love my new car. It’s the first car we’ve owned that allows me to play the music on my iPhone through the car speakers wirelessly. I can listen to my music while the kids watch a movie on wireless headsets in the third row seat. It’s like they’re not even there.
But. Even with that luxury, I get tired of being in the car.
By the time I picked John up from his cross-country meet today I was over it. John had called to say he was done, and could pick him up at the park where the races were held. While I was on my way he called to say he was walking back to the school, so I could pick him up there. I went to the school.
No sign of John. I texted to let him know I was there, assuming he was in the cross-country room getting his stuff. He called back and said he was on his way. (John has trouble texting because his phone has a crack in the screen. A week after he got it he used it to pop the lock on his locker. Brilliant.) I asked if he wanted me to head to the park. He said yes, just come back the way you came only go straight instead of turning.
I followed those instructions until the road dead ended. I called John, he tried to explain that I’d gone the wrong way. I resisted the urge to correct his instructions which should have told me to turn right instead of left and then keep going straight.
Whatever, it was getting late and I was tired of being in the car.
We met at the school parking lot and drove back home. We drove near three grocery stores and no less than five convenience stores.
Once inside I sat on the couch and was promptly accosted by Reese and a stack of books he desperately needed read to him. John made a snack. He fumbled around posing in his ridiculous cross-country uniform. He asked the boys about their day and teased his sister.
Then he said, “Hey Mom, can we go to the commissary? I need to bring root beer to school tomorrow.”
I almost punched him in the face.