Carpool Madness

It's time to stop the madness. I am not kidding. Write your congressman, start a petition, go on a hunger strike, but do something! What is this madness I refer to? Why carpool, of course! Silly me, thought carpool was supposed to be simple. To make our lives easier and safer. Apparently I am in the minority. Here is how carpool should work. In an orderly fashion, pull in to the carpool line, preferably not while talking on your cell phone. As the car in front of you moves forward, you do the same. Stop at the appropriately marked place, turn around, blow a kiss at your child and say "I love you, have a great day", while a teacher escorts your child out the door to their classroom. If you do not have time to wait in a carpool line, you do not belong in carpool. To the Mom who cut me off in carpool line yesterday, then pulled back out of line because it was moving too slow - relax. And to the same Mom who then parked in the middle of the parking lot while blocking the crosswalk- get over yourself. You are not more important than the rest of us. We all have things we'd rather be doing than waiting in line. And once again, to that same Mom, was it really worth the 45 seconds you saved by cutting me off, blocking the crosswalk, and leaving your other two children in the car while you shoved your kindergartener halfway across the parking lot to the teacher who pulled her safely onto the sidewalk? And to the Dad who has been taking Mario Andretti driving lessons on the weekends so he can cut off the buses and make his own special turn lane, please- leave your type Triple A self waiting at the office. This is an elementary school, not Wall Street.

All of this is just for morning drop off. Can you imagine what pickup is like? It's really a fascinating study in selfishness. Here is how pickup is supposed to work. Once again get in line (and you would not believe how many people have issues with this simple concept). Once again pull forward when car in front of you pulls forward. When your child climbs in the car, help him/her with the buckle if needed and drive forward out of the carpool line. Do not, I repeat, do not, by any means climb out of your car. If your child needs that much help climbing in the car, you do not belong in carpool line! If you need to have a lengthy discussion with the teacher about your child's progress on their thesis statement, you do not belong in the carpool line. Every day I study and ponder the white Ford Explorer that attends my school. I find her absolutely fascinating. Every day this Mom pulls into carpool. Every day this Mom stops her car, gets out of her car, opens the hatch of her car and stands to wait for her children. Every day she helps them climb through the hatch of the car into the backseat. The Mom then precedes to climb into the car behind her children to help them buckle their seats. And somehow this Mom manages to be the first car in line every single day. You can imagine how many cars backup in the parking lot waiting for her to finish. And don't even get me started on the lengthy conversations she holds with her child's teacher during this process. Here are the things I ponder: is she really that clueless about the twenty other cars waiting for their turn? did the Mom not feel loved as a child and this is the way she proves to her children they are loved? maybe the Mom never went to kindergarten and never learned to follow simple rules?

Coming soon to a location near you... Carpool 101 by the Road Warrior Wife

Humiliation...

It happened last week. I was completely and utterly humiliated by my son's preschool teacher. My day was off to a great start- I came bouncing down the preschool hallway not only showered by with my hair dried AND makeup on. Trust me, I was not often seen this way at my preschool! I was in a great mood- my husband and I had just returned from a ten year anniversary trip sans kids. Not only were we without the kids for five glorious days, we got to explore a foreign country as well. Never mind the exchange rate against the euro was horrendous, it was definitely worth eating mac 'n cheese for a month to relive my jet-set days again. The threat of impending jet-lag couldn't even bring me down, I was recharged and revitalized. I was ready to throw myself back into the world of carpool, homework, and the dinner time scramble. Little did I know my world was about to crashing down with these five words uttered by a preschool teacher in the hallway..."Can I talk to you?" By the look on the teacher's face, I feared the worst- my three year old had bitten someone...maybe his mediocre enunciation was a sign of serious speech delays...But no. It had nothing to do with my son. It was all about me. And my husband. We had recently sent in family photos and as often happens, there were many pictures of my husband and two kids. Many pictures of me and the two kids. And many pictures of the two kids. But no pictures of us as a family. The teacher was concerned- was everything okay with my husband and I? Were we getting a divorce? The whole exchange was so surreal, all I could manage to get out was "Uh no, actually we just got back from our ten year anniversary trip" and flee the school. Back in the car I was pissed. And embarassed. WHAT was that teacher thinking? Why on earth would you stop someone in the middle of a hallway during morning dropoff to ask about their marriage? What if my husband and I were going through a divorce? And finally, my mind started to spin in circles. Why did the teacher think we were getting a divorce? Simply because of a lack of family pictures? Because my husband and I were rarely at the same events? Finally I shook my head and sighed. It was time to shake the whole event out of my mind and chalk it up as one more part of being The Married Single Mom.

Drive-In Nap 'n Stop

It happened again. I was happily driving along with my three year old in the backseat. One minute we were singing the ABC's, and the next he was completely asleep. Oh Fudge. I had a dilemma. My choices were a) drive aimlessly around while he slept b) park the car somewhere and stare out the window while he slept or c) drive home and cross my fingers for a successful transfer from the car into his bed. None of the options were appealing. And I really needed to grab some milk before his sister got home from kindergarten. And I dying of thirst. And I needed to pee. What was a Mom to do?

I began to daydream of a new business. Ever since quitting my job almost six years ago I indulged in fantasies of creative ways to rake in cash and still spend quality time with my children. My latest scheme involved a huge drive in warehouse. On those occasions your children fell asleep in the car and you were out of errands involving the drive-thru (bank, dry cleaners, and pharmacy to name a few), you would head your car over to the Nap 'n Stop. Upon entry you pull into an assigned place and park your car. Interested in catching up on your magazine reading? No problem- would you like Oprah, Shape, or Bon Appetit? Been too busy for a manicure/pedicure? Sit back and our manicurist will be to your car in just one minute. Baby was up last night with a cough and feeling that mid-afternoon slump? We'd be happy to whip up a double non-fat vanilla latte. Still haven't figured out when to get the oil changed in your car? Drive over to Bay 9 and we'll do it while your child sleeps and you catch up on e-mail at our computer station.

But, since I haven't found my local Nap 'n Stop, I sighed and picked up my eight month out of date copy of Cooking Light and browsed the recipes for the thousandth time while wondering if I added water to the last of the 2% milk if I could make it taste like skim milk to go with our breakfast cereal tomorrow morning...

In my Next Life, I want to come back as a Man.

It's true. 110% true. I want to blithely navigate through parenthood. I want my wife to oversee pediatrician appointments, playdates with friends that are "good" influences, and find creative lunches that are nutritious AND acceptable to five year olds. Wouldn't it be great if someone else had to be the bad guy that said "No Hannah Montana, and absolutely no Suite Life of Zack and Cody. (In case you are wondering why they are taboo in my house, sit down and actually watch the shows. Every parent on these tv shows is an idiot, and every child has a sassy mouth.) Don't get me wrong, I adore being a Mom (and a woman too for that matter.) I love the confidence my children have in my ability to fix anything from a boo-boo to a broken Tonka truck, all with the magic of my trusty glue gun. I don't love it when my children have nightmares, but a part of my heart melts when they cry "mama, I want my mama!" at 3 a.m. I don't have to worry about teaching my three year old son how to be "tough. " I don't stress when that same three year old runs around singing " Nobody's perfect, I gotta work it" at the top of his lungs in a sparkly princess tiara. (And yes, that song is by Hannah Montana. I allow the song, not the show. Fortunately Miley Cyrus has yet to backtalk in a song. Yet.)

Are you wondering why, then, I want to be a man in my next life? None of you know me or my husband. I am being truthful and honest when I say I married a wonderful husband and father. He's not some jerk sitting on the couch watching t.v. all Sunday while I watch the kids. He gives the kids baths, he reads them books, and he spends time playing with them. But, he is still a man. Ultimately someone in the family has to be responsible for running the household. I want to be irresponsible. I want to be the "fun parent." I want someone else to prompt the annual hanging of the Christmas decorations. I want to sit back and wait for someone else to create the "honey do list" instead of creating multiple to do lists of my own every week. I want someone else to worry about the environment and whether or not BPA in plastics is killing us, or if it's part of a conspiracy theory. And most of all, I want to let go of Mommy guilt, worry less about what's for dinner, and enjoy my kids more often. I never heard of a man talk about "daddy guilt." Or maybe it's just the guilt I want to get rid of.

Can I Change My Name?

I don't care what name you pick for me. As long as it's not "Mo- ommmmmm". It's been one of those days. You know the kind of day I mean. The kind where your kids act like their legs are broken and it's torture for them to get their own glass of water. Or the kind of day where a shower doesn't count as being "alone" because every few minutes a face is peering at you saying "Mommm-yyyyyy, I neeeeeeed you." I used to have a favorite hiding place. For several months I was able to "hide" in my three year old's bedroom. It was great, I would sit in his leather club chair (a relic from our first house when my husband "needed" a man chair" and happily chat on the phone with my friends. All around me the children would be calling my name, never suspecting I was righ there the whole time. I think an intercom system would work in my house for a few days. Then instead of yelling throughout the house when they need me, the kids could press a button & buzz me wherever I am. I fear the novelty would quickly wear off and we'd be back to a child in the kitchen yelling for me while I am in the basement. Actually, that's not a bad idea. Maybe I should go hide in the basement now...