The longest 10-minute ride...ever!

I love my children. Really, I do. I feel the need to repeat that: I LOVE my children. I would do anything for them. Throw myself under a bus, take their place in any physical pain or emotional heartache. I sympathize when they are in even the slightest bit of agony. “Oh, you poor baby. That paper cut looks really bad.” OK, you get the point.

I am prefacing my story with that, because I feel societal pressure to do so before I utter the next few paragraphs.

Today was the longest ride to school ever, and I wasn’t stuck in the backed up Route 29 traffic due to the .5-inch of snow fender-bender. It was the same 10-minute drive it always is, and yet, we couldn’t get there soon enough. When the last child exited the car, the door shut and I mentally uttered the words: “Good riddance.”

I know. I know. You’re thinking I’m a horrible mom right now. And maybe I am. But somehow I held it together for those excruciating 10 minutes while they sang screechy songs at the top of their lungs. They were actually competing to see who could sing at a higher pitch and more out-of-tune. Well, they didn’t say that, but I know my daughter can carry a tune, and I even found myself shushing her singing. It had to be intentionally annoying. A plot against me. Nobody does this sort of thing, unless they’re torturing Taliban prisoners. And then Ryker used the back of my seat like a karate sparring partner – kicking, pushing, punching. I thought I was going to be ejected from the Jeep at one point.

“You can’t be that loud while I’m driving,” I said.

 “I need to concentrate because of the snow,”  I said.

“Stop,” I said.

 “No,” I said.

 “Did you hear me???” ” I said.  

“I said CUT IT OUT!,” I said.

 “Stop it,” I said.

“ I said NO!” I said.

See how I tried to be polite at first, and then my explanations morphed into one-word commands. None of it got their attention. It was like the sight of snow this morning put them in an adrenaline-charged trance that prevented them from hearing my voice.

I was just about to give up when Abby began repeating everything Ryker said, or should I said screamed.

“Who are these obnoxious children?” I asked myself. What set them off? Some days they are quiet (really, I swear) and other days I just can’t reach them. They were too far gone. I was pulling into the school and thinking about how completely annoying this echo game is – so much so that doesn’t it bother them? I wondered. And then I remembered. I used to do it with my sisters. It must have driven my mother crazy.

And yet, she lives on and still loves us.

Of course, I love my children even still. I actually smiled about it as I pulled out of the school parking lot (mostly because I realized I dodged a bullet of 40 minutes of child torture, as traffic was backed up for a mile). And if the superintendent would have called 10 minutes later to cancel school, my smile would have turned upside down. This morning, I just needed to go to work and get away. “Today, you’re somebody else’s problem.” Yes, I really thought that. Sue me! Tonight, I’ll snuggle up with them, and they never have to know I was moments away from stopping the car and whooping them. (As if!) Besides, I was actually fantasizing about a snow day filled with sledding, snowball fights and hot chocolate by 10 a.m.