The biggest problem that I encounter on the sometimes 3-5 hour process depending on if it's "dance" day is how many people feel obligated to tell me that what I'm doing is absolute nonsense. I love being interrupted from day dreaming about beaches and shit for someone to be irritated or shocked by my decision to mind my own damn business and pick up my kids. Yes, I know of the big orange thing called the "bus" and if I could I would tell you to shove that bus up your ass. Yet, I don't. I just grin and smile and joke all while you mock me. Please know that as you are talking I am conducting a play by play in my head of me spitting in your face, telling you to suck my tit, choking you out and flipping you off. So, I don't necessarily hear your Charlie Brown teacher talk. I am in a completely different world filled with so much rage that I could spew enough fire out of my asshole to melt your tires and your face.
Why such animosity? I can't for the life of me figure out "why the f*ck do you care"? I'm not bothering anyone. I'm following the rules of the road. I'm not interfering. I'm not keeping you from being the parent you need to be. I don't give a shit what you are doing and I don't care to give you an explanation about my choice to wait one f*cking hour. One hour does not mean shit in retrospect....being that I spend 3-5 hours as a taxi driver from dance to tumble to band to home back to dance etc.
I know you don't mean any harm. You are just commenting on what you see. A dumb ass mother who obviously has too much time on her hands. A mother who wants nothing more than to wait in a car alone for hours. I spend the majority of my days waiting. I am waiting at dance. I am waiting at tumble. I am waiting at band. Hell, I'm waiting to take a shit in privacy at home. Waiting is what I do and I do it the best I can...all by myself. I listen to self help pod casts, I answer emails, I scroll on Facebook, I read, I write, I research Beachbody information, I stare off into space and imagine rainbows and unicorns. I do everything in my might to conjure up some sense of peace. Waiting is not for the meek. There is a skill to it. So, when you bring your squirrel grinning ass up to my window and begin to preach about how you would never...."Boom...I have clocked your ass six times in the chin."
That's just the beginning of my journey. Miss B is my first pick up. She knows to get her ass to the car ASAP because mommy has other stops. What she does not know is that mommy can't read her spelling words while driving, mommy can't tie her shoe, mommy can't turn around and open a bottle of water, mommy can't pull forgotten snacks out her ass, mommy can't make the red light green so she can go shit in a public place everyday at 3:30 pm, mommy can't make sister get out of school earlier, mommy can't fix the damn DVD player, mommy can't reach her when she has chosen to strip to her undies because she is hot, mommy can't do a damn thing about the sun shining in her face, mommy can't make the sucker not sour, mommy does not know why God made midgets, nor does she know how they drive, what they drive or if they drive. Please realize that these conversations happen in a 15 minute time span...every day. Every blue moon something random happens. A mom who has obviously reached her limit allows her blonde headed kid out of her car to frolick in the yards of strangers. I look away because I am ashamed of the judgement that creeps up. Until the little blonde headed angel comes up to my passenger door and decides to just stare at me. I give him a little wave, but he won't stop staring. He walks to the front of my car and stands and stares. I close my sunroof because Miss B starts screaming "stop looking in here." After the 3rd wave and no response from the kid I decide to call him "powder" and I snap a picture. I send it to my friends, so they can witness the little Pet Cemetery boy staring into my car. We get a good laugh. All, I want is the little mother f*cker to cease staring at me. Giggle. Yet, I find myself beginning to relax....
Until, I pick up the middle Diva. Oh, my sweet middle child gets in to inform me that yet again she has made a 99 and not a 100 on her test. She proceeds to check her grades to get her grade point average down to the decimal. She's also hot and famished. She rummages through what is left of the provided snacks only to decline all of them and look sadly out the window. I don't get why my children are so f*cking hungry when I pick them up. Most of the times I pack their lunches and our school cafeteria food actually rocks!! They are getting fresh veggies, salads, and foods made from scratch. Still, they enter my vehicle pheening for something to eat. Being a total "pleaser", I pack snacks. I have given them a pass on healthy eating when it comes to snack time. A cookie here or there won't hurt them. What makes me want to flip my car is when Miss B decides she wants my portion control grapes and 12 almonds. I know it sounds strict, but I love this snack. It gives me the boost to keep me going and I don't want to share my damn grapes!! I have packed grapes before and they turn their nose up. Anything I put in my mouth, they want. Miss B downs my green tea every afternoon and even nibbles on my mint leaves. I can't explain the anger and rage I feel when they eat all my yogurt, almonds, and grapes. Lately, I have flat out refused to share. They do it all of the time. So, I'm like screw them...eat your crackers, M&Ms or whatever else you picked for the afternoon. This is MY snack for the day. #byeFelicia.
Time passes and Miss B has hit boredom. She's half dressed, farting, and sticking her head out the sunroof. I always pause to think if drinking that second glass of wine in the first, second, and third trimester was a good idea. The middle Diva is now car sick and nauseous from the fumes coming out of her little sister's ass. She's too nice to punch her. So, she begins to whine. I try to diffuse the situation by grabbing ice cream before my final pick up. A quick ice cream stop turns into somebody having to piss and shit at my last pick up. I plead with them to hold it. The ice cream has melted and it's running down my seats. I swear off ice cream and snacks. I begin to experience eye twitching.
I pull up to my final pick up and wait for 45 minutes with two Divas that have turned into whiny, stinky bitches. Miss B is jumping from the second to third row like a circus act as I call out her spelling words. The middle Diva is frustrated that I can't help her with her definitions and shocked that I would suggest "google it". I realize I'm holding my breath. I have cancelled Christmas, Halloween, 3 birthdays, and Easter in efforts to get Miss B to sit the hell down. I am coming undone. I believe this is the end of the road for us....
Ding, ding....3:45 pm on the dot every day I get the same text message "where are you?" Oh, my oldest Diva has decided that looking and waiting for me is just not something she can handle. So instead of her exiting the school and finding the same silver SUV that picks her up daily...she insists I give her my exact location in car rider line ..."swing left, 2nd row, 8th car back". She finally spots my car and proceeds to walk slowly to my vehicle. I grip the wheel and motion to walk a little f*cking faster and pop the trunk. She stomps to the passenger seat because she's embarrassed to be greeted in front of her friends by Miss B....all the way in the trunk area by now, barely clothed with an ice cream mustache and a toothless grin. She chastises Miss B for her behavior and the red lipstick she is now wearing because I no longer give a f*ck.
She tosses her color guard flag into my car and I pray that it does not go smashing through my windshield. I try to greet her with a genuine smile as she sits in he passenger seat and cuts the heated seats on in 80 degree weather. "What's for supper?" are always her first words. I toss her a bag of half eaten popcorn and tell her "I don't know."
At this point in the day, I have hit a depth of violent darkness. I have turned into a defensive yet safe driver. I have 3 bitches in my car talking at one time. Someone is crying. Someone is mad. Someone is telling me about the slightest detail of her day that made it the WORSE DAY EVER. Then, my ears catch come ratchet shit..."Did Miss B just say she ate someone else's booger? Did someone say "damn" in that song? I have swapped the station over to music that I know is inappropriate, but I need something to drown out the chaos. My windows are down. I am looking straight ahead. I begin to imagine the life of taxi drivers and the shit they see everyday...the things they hear. I understand their rudeness. Their needing to get from point A to point B with the least resistance and discussion. I feel like I work the night shift in a taxi driver's life. I pick up drunk bitches that cry, spill shit, puke, and are needy and chatty. I don't get their jokes. I wonder if the tip is even worth it. Should I just drop them off on a random corner if they ask me to change the radio station again?? Should I rear end the asshole that failed to put on his turning signal?? Why is an 18 year old driving a $50,000 car? I don't own a $50,000 car. I think every driver is a moron and I question my career making decisions.
Then...there's dead silence. The Divas are over me, each other, and the ride. They are deep into their devices trying to ignore their mother. I look in my rear view mirror to find Miss B slumped over asleep and drooling with one flip flop on. Papers and snacks are scattered everywhere. I literally screech into the driveway, almost scraping the bottom of the garage door as it opens. I have it timed to the exact second all while opening my trunk. I want them out of my car and their shit out.
Miss B, like any young woman that has been over served, has no idea where she is. I unbuckle her and pull her into my arms. She instantly cuddles me and buries herself into my neck smearing all of the red stained lipstick on my neck and clothes. I finally breathe. Taking in this moment. Remembering how they all would snuggle into my neck when I would pick them up from daycare. I would wait all day for just that moment...where everything seemed alright and in place. I remind myself that I often take the chaos for granted. The chaos means we are all still living...still trying. I manage to get in the door with Miss B on one arm and her backpack om the other. I let the backpack hit the floor and I hold her for a second longer..."You forgot my lunchbox..." I muster up an "I know" and try not to toss her on the floor. As I make several trips back and forth to a car, I remind myself that I'm not doing what any other person out there is not doing. Just going through the motions. Trying my best to get my tribe from here to there with least resistance.
So, yes...I sit for an hour most days to begin our afternoon excursions. I sit alone in my car and I do whatever I can legally do in front of a school. I fall asleep. I chat with friends. I try to think of ways to make car rider more effective for everyone involved at each school. I pray. I ponder the ins and outs of this sometimes cruel world. I wait.
And though you may stare and gawk as if I am a circus act...please read the warning sign that I am projecting from my eyes..."don't feed the animals..."
Absolutely love this!!
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