Riding in cars with children

I am the mother of four mid-agers, referring to children who are post-diaper/imaginary friend stage and pre-mustache/armpit hair/"can I have the keys?" stage.

Due to what I can only attribute to be the increased size of their craniums and the mounting need to fill those orbs with busyness, the activities my children currently participate in have increased to an alarming number. (It has been scientifically proven that children's brains do grow proportionate to the size of their bodies, even if they sometimes act like their brains have shrunk to the size of a dehydrated blueberry.) We have two in baseball, one in kid cardio, two in Scouts, one in Young Women's, three with paper routes, one in yearbook, one in piano, another in guitar...you get the gist.

A word in my defense: I didn't ask for this lunacy. I typically encourage our children to participate in a minimal number of extra-curricular activities because I am a borderline slacker teetering on the edge of slothfulness myself. And yet they insist on having their own interests, propagating a new vocation for me: Taxi Mom.

I know this description usually incites a shudder in mommies everywhere, but take courage! I have found the proverbial silver-stitching in my cabby's hat. While perpetually driving these busy little people to and fro, I have found many an opportunity to not only hear what's clattering around in those growing skulls, but to be thoroughly entertained by the creativity drawn out by sheer in-car boredom.

Once again, to illustrate my point, I rely on a harvest of photos taken with my pocket-size Sony cyber-shot. While the quality is debatable at best, I do get shots that would otherwise have been lost while prepping my more laborious Canon.

Katelyn took this shot of four Toyota Siennas lined up in a local parking lot. Her reaction to this strange occurrence was one of amazement; a humble reminder to me to look around a little more and find wonder in life's inconsistencies.

I drive middle school carpool in the afternoon once a week and every time we drop Abby off, Katelyn looks longingly at her neighbor's mini kiddie-coaster perched on the sidewalk. One day Kate ordered me to pull over. She sprang from the car and gave it a whirl. I caught the faintest glimpse of my tiny Kate on her four-wheeled plastic ride toy screaming down the hill in front of our home almost a decade ago. I love that Kate's girlish zeal is still fully intact, even if it is encased in a larger body.

Tucker takes guitar lessons every Friday afternoon. While he has his lesson, I sit in the car and chill with whatever offspring happens to be along. On this particular day it happened to be Kalli and her cousin, Macy. Finding themselves imprisoned in a Sequoia with nothing but a change of Tanner's clothing and a dog to entertain themselves (I was off-duty in the front seat, thrust into a pivotal chapter in my book), they went to work. It took quite a bit of teamwork to restrain the dog long enough to fully clothe him, but here is the result, beanie hat and all. (Let it be noted that the green and white shorts under the red shirt are Tanner's boxers.)

Sometimes its the actual act of getting INTO the car that can be humorous. Like when we're about to leave and Katelyn notices that someone's hair is unfit for social presentation. She has been known to attack a male sibling spontaneously from behind and work quick magic with a spray bottle and comb. The male sibling is rarely amused. However, I give Kate silent kudos for taking care of an unpleasant task I'd otherwise be responsible for.

Wednesdays are the craziest. I literally and without exaggeration pulled in and back out of my driveway nine times last Wednesday. While waiting for Katelyn (and Kalli and her little friend who pitched in to help) to complete her paper route, I sat in the car and stared glassy-eyed out the window at this beautiful little piece of real estate. I had a mommy fantasy: I was lying on a soft blanket under the little tree reading a great book and eating dark chocolate covered pomegranate seeds. And then a wayward rolled newspaper hit the windshield, jarring me back to reality.

I call this one, "Why wait until we get home when there's nothing better to do in the car?" After hitting Petsmart for yet another doggy toothbrush and toothpaste, Katelyn saw fit to brush the dog's teeth in the car so that I could experience, up close, how fresh his breath was after brushing.

The same trip to Petsmart yielded a new fishbowl for Katelyn's new goldfish. The previous goldfish lasted an entire 10 days. And yet here she is, back in the ring for another round of aquatic life and death. Her new fish, named Gumbo, was securely seat-belted in his plastic baggy in the back seat thanks to Tucker and Kalli. Katelyn opted to use the fishbowl as an acoustic device into which she sang loudly most of the way home. Because hey, why not?

I recently read that the Chinese pictograph for "busyness" is translated as "heart killing." Disturbing, isn't it? I do believe we can "busy" ourselves right out of really living and into simply existing.

And yet, short of boarding up the house and dashing for the Montana mountains to live out life in a simpler fashion, I don't see much slowing down for our family.

So my objective is this: to find my happiness amidst the busyness. Because, truth be told, I'd rather be sitting in my car chatting with my kids and plotting my next taxi run and tomorrow's crockpot dinner than laying under that tree reading a book all by myself.