Rain, hail or shine Mum’s taxi service operates day in and day out at our house. The school run, the after school activities, the play dates, the birthday parties, the soccer games all require mum-power to make sure everyone is where they are supposed to be at the right time.
I hate to add up the amount of hours I have spent in the car ferrying children to a variety of places and events. It’s also often been the place where the most intense conversations have taking place, lecturing (me), whining (children), confused questioning “where are we going?” (husband), but without a doubt the most nail-biting moments have occurred when the children take the opportunity of having your undivided attention to raise the big issues that have been preying on their minds. Here’s a sample of the kind of conversations we can have.
Miss then 6: “Mum, what’s the f word?”
Me: (knuckles turning white on the steering wheel as I do 110 k’s down the highway) – “it’s a rude word for what mummies and daddies do to make babies.”
Miss then 6: “What do mummies and daddies do to make babies?”
And it just went down hill from there.
Or the more recent conversation on the drive home from school.
Lady Gaga (on the radio-not physically in the car doing the school run): “Many people think Edge of Glory is about an orgasm but it’s actually about when my Grandfather was dying and watching him with my Grandmother.”
Miss 11: “What’s an orgasm?”
Miss 14: “Oh God!”
Me: “It’s when sex feels really, really good.”
Miss 11: “Does sex usually not feel good?”
Me: “No sex feels good, but an orgasm feels really, really good.”
Miss 11: “I don’t understand.”
Miss 14: “Please God can we stop this conversation!”
Me: “Does anyone want ice-cream?”
I try so hard but I just dig myself deeper and deeper into the hole.
But having overcome the tricky discussions car rides are often when I get one-on-one time with my girls and surprisingly it’s often when they open up about things that are bothering them or ask for advice on their problems, so maybe all that mileage is worth it.
Just be thankful you had girls… last week, my 10 year old son asked me what ejaculation is. It’s times like that I wish I wasn’t a sole parent. (I answered honestly. He was disgusted. I was dying to say, “hey, in a couple of years you’ll understand, and by the way, let’s teach you how to wash your pyjamas!” but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.)