Sometimes the drive home from school is a bit like carnival meets off-key orchestra, meets Bonnie Rait’s Something To Talk About—all light rock radio stations, all the time.
My kids are exhausted at the end of the school day but excited and high on life that the next few hours should consist of nothing but snacks, Lego, Snakes ‘N Ladders and a warm bath. Except of course when there are swimming lessons or piano practice or homework or anyone’s backpack encroaching on the other’s portion of the bench row of the mini-van. This is when things can get out of control, decibel levels reach new heights and as loud as I try to crank Bonnie, her humming solo is no match for the two little maids from school fist fighting and uttering threats from just a few feet away.
I had purchased a new bathing suit for each of the girls at Costco earlier in the day and set them on their seats in the back row. I thought this might be something exciting they would find, like an Easter egg but without the religious undertone. Maybe the suits would come as a pleasant surprise and a welcome distraction. Also, my arms were full from the case of diapers, twelve tons of skinless chicken breasts, Silk hair smoothing serum that will hopefully one day work in place of blow drying and brushing at all.
The girls were distracted by their bathing suits, the baby and I kicked back to Something To Talk About and giggled when the DJ came on and announced the song title and artist—have we been living in a cave? Within a couple of minutes the car was (perhaps for the first time in history) eerily quiet.
It hadn’t occurred to me to turn around or even glance in the rear view mirror. For the first time in ages, I wasn’t refereeing an argument, nor was the drive riddled with “I told you so,” “don’t touch my blank” or the classic “I’m telling.”
Chloe: How about wuv, wuv, wuu-uuv….something to talk bout…
Perfect.
Until of course I pulled into the garage and heard the two jokers in the back attempting to speak but sounded more like they’d been bound and gagged.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to see they had removed the crotch stickers from their new bathing suits and placed them across their mouths to keep from arguing.
Worked for me.
