Confessions from a Mama of Many
When it’s ‘just us’, we count ten people.
And since the majority of us still require a booster or a carseat when we travel by car, that means we need a family vehicle that can accommodate this, while also allowing space for groceries, luggage, sports equipment, tools, diaper bags, and the random family friend or two. Or three.
Enter a former shuttle van, a black, 15-passenger Ford Transit, which we affectionately call “The Mini-Bus”, which technically might be an oxymoron.
There’s nothing like arriving at a friends’ barbecue in our big black shiny van. We often roll up along an extended length of sidewalk to park, because sometimes the driveway is too short. Turning off the engine, I usually call out careful reminders of overall behavior, expectations of good manners, kindness toward siblings, obedience toward parents, thankfulness towards the hosting family, and then recite the Gettysburg Address. Just kidding. (About the Gettysburg Address, I mean. I actually do say all the rest.)
Then we open the big side door. This is usually where at least two kids literally fall out onto the sidewalk because they couldn’t wait for a parent to help with their seatbelts and were leaning against the inside of the door, against the rules. The wails and sobbing from the ensuing scraped knees and hands create quite an entrance, if anyone happened to miss the actual arrival.
Then, after dealing with any emergencies, we have the ones who actually got out first without injuries try to stick close in a clump until we get the remaining horde crew out safely. In busy parking lots this can be a fascinating effort since we have a couple daydreamers who tend to drift gently away and completely block other parking spaces or veer into the way of other cars trying to drive by while observing a flying bird, an oddly-shaped cloud, or an interesting crack in the ground, deaf to all reminders to stay close.
We also have a couple kids who love to finger-paint in the dust of our van – or truly, any available vehicle nearby – trailing once-clean fingers along the sides of streaked cars, then guiltily starting when I shriek their name, quickly wiping the grime from their fingers on their clothing. This is usually on our way in to church, while they’re wearing a nice outfit.
Of all my children, I have only two that have never thrown up in the car. Most of the rest have a strong tendency to carsickness, requiring careful planning and vigilant driving. “Look out the front window! Focus on those trees far away! Stop looking down!” is a commonly heard admonition on family drives. I have learned to bring a constant stash of wipes, bags, and something I’ve developed for these situations: a plastic container with a tightly sealed lid, lined with a couple paper towels for absorption. I usually bring a minimum of three.
On one infamous trip to pick up a food order from a place in the county we hadn’t been before, my GPS stopped working and I got lost driving up and down little forested hills with no idea where I was. Worried that we would miss our scheduled grocery pick up, I was anxious, and the children beginning to cry, squabble, and fight in the back didn’t help.
One of my sons started looking green, and his big sister yelled, “MOM! He’s going to throw up!” I began shrieking in panic, “Hold on! Just hold on! I’m going to pull over as soon as I can!” Seeing a driveway just ahead, I pulled over quickly, leaped out of the van, threw open the door and my son catapulted out to throw up on some bushes by the side of the road. Then, still gray-faced, he got back in the van full of wailing children, and I, completely stressed, hurriedly drove off. I’m not proud of this. (If those were your bushes, I deeply apologize.)
The other day I decided to be brave and load them all up for an outing, to get out of the house for an hour or so. My plan was to quickly throw on shoes, get in the van, drive to our church parking lot where they were handing out 30-day promise/prayer journals, and then head home for lunch.
Deep breath.
First we had to get ready. This involved siblings assisting/struggling with shoes, diaper changes, practicing military salutes, tickle fights, and wrestling when I had asked them to make sure they went to the bathroom.
One child unexpectedly had an emotional meltdown.
Another disappeared without a trace for about fifteen minutes – I later discovered that they had capriciously decided to change their entire outfit. For a drive where no one was planning on exiting the vehicle, in a van with tinted windows where no one could see them. Brilliant.
Then suddenly it was remembered that some of the children had already written/drawn some cards/pictures for a couple of the pastors/ministry leaders at our church, so those had to be found to bring along. But alas! This reminded the children who had not written or drawn any such communiqué that they were remiss and therefore needed to quickly make up for their lack. So, because I was still dealing with the meltdown child and also hadn’t yet gotten myself ready quite yet, I agreed. (Insert head slap.)
Twenty minutes later, now with various envelopes addressed to no less than five different people, each stuffed with drawings/notes, I sent the children who were ready out the front door to climb into the van. They were told to get in, help their little siblings put on their seat belts, and then strap themselves in and wait quietly while I grabbed my purse and locked the door.
Before I even managed to get my shoes on, my youngest toddler was somehow back out of the van, wandering around our front porch, and no less than three different children had also come running back inside to tattle or ask an asinine question.
With growing exasperation, I herded them all into the van, told them I was disappointed in their unwillingness to obey quickly, and ensured they were all strapped in.
Off we went!
The twenty-five minute drive was marked by various utterances from the eight passengers:
“Mom! Can you turn up the air conditioning?! I’m HOT!”
“Mom, I’m freezing!”
“Mom! She took my flip flops and won’t give them back!”
“Mom! He just said bum!” (in scandalized tones)
“Mom! He’s playing rock-paper-scissors with her and not looking out the front window so he’s going to get SICK!”
“I’m think I’m going to throw up.” (from the one child who is never carsick)
“I throw up!” (from the toddler, who hadn’t, but likes to say it)
“Mommy! She hit me and she didn’t say sorry!” (Culprit bursts into noisy tears)
Then, moments later, the same child: “Mommy! She’s looking at me!” (Culprit bursts into even louder sobs, this time from a deep sense of injustice.)
And the usual: “Mom! Are we there yet? How much longer?”
Yep. Good thing I was heading to pick up some prayer journals. I could really use them.