car talk

Following my Ella's Heart Act to Follow ceremony last Friday, I stopped at Frank's Car Wash to vacuum out my extremely winter-worn car. Alright. Fine. It's a minivan. To entice Summit to sit in his carseat for what would undoubtedly be quite a while, I pulled out the big gun: the DVD screen was released from the ceiling of the vehicle, and 'How to Train Your Dragon' was inserted into the DVD console.

All with a heavy heart...which is quite strange because I can't think of how many times I have wanted to have my kids preoccupied with something other than asking me a million and a half questions or making incessant demands of me. But I knew that as soon as I pulled down that screen, I would lose part of my Summit until I am able to wrangle his mind back from the world of movies in the car. For the next several weeks, every time we get in Mommy's car, the first thing he'll ask of me is, "Mommy, can you get me my cell phone?" (He, of course, means head phones, but he's been doing this for a while, and I think it's cute and funny that he calls them his cell phone, so I can't bring myself to tell him the proper term.) And as soon as those puppies cover his ears, all of his attention will be focused on a movie that will play 30 times in a row over the course of a month. When this happens, I'll find myself in the silence of the car with just me and NPR.

Now, I'm not gonna pretend that there are days when I would kill for silence and NPR, especially when the kids are bickering and crying and whining and telling on each other. Lately, however, I have found myself relishing the sounds of their constant chatter. I love the questions and the innocent, ridiculous things that pop out of their mouths. They make me laugh and love them even more...if this is possible. I love the sounds of their voices (well, most of the time). I love the way Summit speaks in his squeaky, helium-pitched voice. I love the way Ella says "mommy." I love the way Summit says it, too. I love hearing about Ella's day at school when I pick her up from Nursery Road. I love it when Summit points out dinosaurs in the clouds as we drive down the road. I enjoy speaking to my kids in those moments when they can't go anywhere or be distracted by friends or television or cats or puppy or bikes or painting. They let me into their lives and share with me the sweet thoughts or wonders that reside in their developing minds. That time is reserved for me. (I even get to see them act silly and put underwear over their heads, which, by the way, is gross...especially when it's your brother's, Ella!)

And when I'm driving down the road, I can't leave the room to pick up something in another. I can't fold laundry or cook dinner. I can listen to them, though, and give them my attention without feeling obligated to do something that I just "have to do." I can't count the number of times when I have been so caught up with making the beds or cleaning the bathrooms or folding laundry or making sure to dot every i and cross every t that I have missed out on a moment with my children. Why ever should I rely on car talk for good conversation?

Perhaps the lesson from this is mine. I know that one day, I'm not gonna have as much to do, but they are, and when that day comes, they won't be so willing to talk. When I finally have the time, they won't. And that's gonna suck. The realization of this brings tears to my eyes, and I can place myself 10 years ahead, and my heart aches for missing my babies. My little loves. And when I'm in the car 10 or 20 years from now, which probably won't be a minivan anymore, I'll be alone with silence and NPR, longing for the days when my car was covered in bug juice and crackers, crayons and papers, laughter and questions for "mommy." Covered in my children.

I better enjoy it now. This is the time of my life.