The weekday hours of 630 a.m.- 830 a.m. are truly the most terrifying of my day. During this fateful stretch, I attempt to cajole, bribe, threaten, bully, manipulate and shame my kids to getupgopeegetdressedeatbreakfastbrushhairbrushteethputonshoesgetyourgearandyourarseinthecarnow!!!! I tell you what, my neighbor will make a killing if he ever videotapes me in high heels and a pencil skirt chasing my kids all over the driveway and putting them in the car, while containing my force to non-prosecutable levels. He could post that video on YouTube and pitch it as advertising footage. For antidepressants.
Now when I first started driving the littlest Rugrats to school (the husband drives the elementary-age kid, solo, to school, what’s up with that???), I thought the way to achieve a peaceful and enriching drive was to keep them entertained. NOT by any singing or rhyming or "I Spy" on my part. That's my time to slug coffee, gossip with my sister on speaker phone, and listen to news radio. Instead, I made sure I had an abundance of stuffed animals, books, action figures…hell, I even bought two of those portable AquaDoodle boards for them, figuring they could create little toddler masterpieces. Perfect.
Oh, bullshit. No matter the abundance, they fought over everything. Or they dropped the toy on the floor and I’d channel freakin Elastigirl to reach it, while trying to avoid a rear-end collision. And AquaDoodle, SchmaquaDoodle! One kid chewed the end of the Aqua pen to an unrecognizable mass, the other kept pouring the water out of the pen on her leg. Passenger enrichment, my ass.
So my next plan was to cleanse the back seat--NO toys at all. Hey kids! Look out the window! Sing with the radio! The news station has a catchy jingle right before the traffic report! Oh, but I have spawned some expert shoplifters. They slink out of the house with toys and trinkets concealed in their tiny cargo shorts and smock dresses. En route, I realize that a Barbie or a Transformer or a spatula has made it into the back seat. I let it slide, usually. Have you tried one-armed wrestling over a Power Ranger while driving in rush hour traffic? Try to demand, “Hand it over,” and high-pitched wailing ensues. Surrender, Dorothy.
But oh, did we reach a new level today. Somehow, a new creature, and I do mean creature, was smuggled into our midst. You see, yesterday, my baby girl pilfered a rubber snake from the house, and it made the jolly ride to school with us. Now this snake is gnarly. Brown, sticky, stretchy. Kinda funny if it is hidden under someone’s pillow or in the shower, like the faux fecal matter that was once in our possession. But that, my friend, is another story for another day. But really the snake is kind of a nasty toy. Of course the twins LOVE it. And they particularly love to swing that bastard Yippee-Yi-Ayy style in the confines of the back seat and smack their sibling with it. And that stretchy thing HURTS. So it happened twice yesterday and I said, “NO MORE SNAKE!”
And of course it was back in the car today. And of course somebody got smacked with it. And this AWM made good on her promise and removed the snake. I am talking permanently. I gained inspiration from my sister, a glorious AWM in her own right. On a particularly testy day, her toddler son cracked her shin with a toy dust pan. She promptly removed the toy from his grasp to put the toy in “time out.” Now she could have put it on top of the refrigerator or in the back of the coat closet. But oh hale no! That shin-smack hurt like the dickens so she marched out the back door and threw that SOB in the lake behind her house. Finis.
Along those lines, I promptly discarded El Snake out of the window, smack in the middle of Interstate 45, Southbound, Houston, Texas, during peak rush hour.
Sorry for any traffic slow-downs or near-misses in the area, but an Angry Working Mother has gotta do what she’s gotta do.
