View from the “Uber Mom’s” driver seat

Normally I drive an average of 600 miles a week. My part time job is 7 miles from my home. My older two daughters’ school is 5.5 miles from my garage. My youngest’s elementary school is 1.8 miles from my front door. Then there is the dance studio for ballet, jazz, hip hop, contemporary and pointe classes, that is 3 miles from my currently parked car, in the driveway. Winter basketball practices range from 7 miles for the furthest drive, down to 1.8 miles for the closest to our abode. There is the actual basketball games whose location averages about 30 miles away (from 5 miles to 65 miles) distance from my mailbox. And we probably should consider the grocery store, which is 2 miles down the road, and I usually only make one big shopping trip there in a normal week. Somehow that adds up to about 3000 miles most months.

That is a lot of oil changes, glad I have a newer car! As well as being a lot of gas, good thing I have a gas card with discounts every 50 gallons. Not to mention all the sitting I do as I drive from here, to there, to somewhere else, and then back again to here. That is a lot of songs on the radio. A lot of deep conversation in small segments. A lot of deep sighs, and eye rolls, and sullen refusals to answer. But it is also lots of laughter and goofiness, and memories made together, in different combinations. It is the times we have shared our excitements, our accomplishments, as well as our set backs, and struggles. A place with a captive audience, unable to feign they have school work to do, or a shower they have to squeeze in first. It is both our kryptonite and our therapy session.

Now we drive about 50-100 miles a week. Mostly trips to find the few items on our essential grocery list. We have an occasional trip to the bank drive through, where the tellers make me laugh with spraying Lysol on my receipt. Maybe a few trips to the ocean for fresh air on sunny days, where we dream of summer and friends and warmth. And I volunteer once a week to bring food supplies for our school’s weekend backpack program. But most of these trips are solo, only me, myself and I. I end each trip with a thorough wipe down of everything with Clorox wipes: the steering wheel, shifter, keys, door handles, arm rests and radio dials. When the kids do accompany me to the beach the car is once again filled with their music, stories, laughter, and sullen attitudes about my choice of granola bars brought along for snack. The gas tank is filled much less frequently than before. And I am sure it will be more than a month and a half between oil changes. Instead we will wash the van in the yard, rake the fall leaves from under the trees, begin to dig in our spring garden plots, and explore our very local nature hikes.

We have shifted gears and are exploring older, overgrown roads. The conversations are now around the fire pit, in the back yard, after a day of trimming out wild rose bushes. The giggles and laughter are in the living room, as we try to find a family game suitable for ages 11-51. The heavy sighs and eye rolls come as I wake them mid morning for the day’s activities. The accomplishments and set backs are shared around the family evening meal, along with reminders of table manners and etiquette. Our emotions still run the gamut with three teenagers, one worker outside the home, and one mom trying to still meet all their needs. We are just finding new ways to share, work through and find a way to make it work together.

The basketballs still bounce, just in the front driveway, and the softball diamond is getting worn into the back yard. Dance classes are much less formal in the living room and can sometimes be completed in pajama even. School classes move from the dining room table, to the living room couch, to the driveway and yard. And grocery shopping lists become the family math practice of what we need and where we can get it closest and easiest. Life goes on. And we will continue to journey together as a family, down unknown roads that still all lead to tomorrow.