The Passenger's Seat

Heading out the door, as most parents do, I checked around to make sure I had everything. My oldest and I were going shopping - something that happens rarely these days. 

I looked at her, ready and waiting to head out with me. Hair back, shoes on, water bottle in hand. Coat on (but not zipped - hey, pick your battles). There wasn't one thing I had to tell her to do before we headed out. 

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When we who have children leave the house, there is such a mess of things we can't leave behind. And sometimes, when we get to where we're going - or on the trek to get where we're going - we realize that had we remembered this one item, whatever current mess we were dealing with could have been avoided. And then there's getting the kids ready. 

"Did you potty?" 

"Where are your shoes? Wait, where are your socks?" 

"Grab your coat!" 

"Oh for God's sake those shoes didn't bother you an hour ago!" 

"Dear Lord look at the chocolate all over your mouth - go wipe it off real quick."  

"You haven't even peed yet?! Hurry up!"

And you hastily agree to them bringing their 18 dolls with them for the 10 minute car ride so you can save yourself one more argument and maybe like five minutes. 

Then there's the actual act of getting in the car. The seats, the buckles, and the being ever-so-gentle and sing-songy because we're almost on the road and God forbid we buckle a little too tight or we lose one of the 18 dolls we have with us. 

As we get into the car, our Fitbit dings and says "Congratulations, you just had 10 active minutes!" Our bodies were bending and stretching and lifting and maneuvering enough to get a congrats from Fitbit. We literally were just getting in the car. Yeah, we need a breather. 

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She opened the passenger side door and gracefully slid in and put on her seatbelt. I hurried around to my side and plopped myself in the driver's seat. As I was backing out of the driveway, I couldn't help but feel this sense of relief come over me as I looked at her. She was my hope, my prayer for when the days were just so hard. I didn't have to buckle her, dress her, or plead with her to get her shoes on. She was completely self-sufficient when it came to getting ready and getting in the car. 

She rolled down her window as we drove off - her little hair whispies blowing in the wind. As she tried to find a radio station that was suitable to her liking, she ended up giving up and pulled up Spotify. A couple of taps later and she had "Bang" by AJR playing. We both smiled and I started dancing (much to her dismay - and mortification). She quickly rolled up her window so people wouldn't recognize her with this crazy lady. 

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I looked in my rearview mirror as I was desperately singing "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine" at the top of my lungs, making sure not to leave any space between when the song ended and when I started it again. Every time I stopped singing, she'd start screaming at the top of her lungs again. She hated being in the car - and hated being strapped in even more. As we moved through traffic, I couldn't help cursing at the slow drivers because I had a screaming baby in the car and needed to get the f home. "DUDE!" I screamed at them. "We're almost home baby girl!" I cheerfully sang while tears piled up in my eyes. After a rough morning of her not liking the breakfast I made for her or the outfit I picked out for her, I found myself looking to the sky and pathetically pleading to the universe, "Will this ever get easier?"

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As we were stopped at a light, she began asking me questions. She was initiating conversation with me, curious about the things of life, of the world. Taking nothing for granted, I tried to not overdo my excitement with this time we got together. It's not easy being the oldest, and much of my attention has been spent on the younger kids (You know - all the socks and shoes and potty stuff). And her - being a pre-teen, has conveniently not wanted (or maybe not needed) the attention of her mom. We've had our share of mother-daughter spats lately. One of my favorite ones was when she used one of my lines against me. After I expressed not understanding why she didn't want to hang out with me as much anymore she said, "Mom, you've never raised a pre-teen before. This is what we do." She also likes to remind me that she's not me and how I handle a situation isn't necessarily how she would handle it. Touché, my child.  

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As we were walking into the store, she grabbed my hand as she frequently does. She skipped along as her little feet tried to keep up with my big strides. She stayed close to my side as we perused the aisles and picked out some new clothes. She was drawn to the pink and sparkly dresses. "Mommy I really want this Peppa Pig bow! Plleeasssee!" And of course, I would always give in. 

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We got to the store and again, I tried to keep my cool as she showed interest in letting me buy her things. "Oh, you want to look at clothes? OK, that's fine," as I was like "Wahoooo!!!" on the inside. She was drawn to these super cool, casual junior pieces. She chose colors and pieces that didn't call any unneeded attention to her, but were also trendy and stylish. As she looked at the clothes in her hand, she put back a hair tool that she had initially grabbed. I said, "Are you sure? I can still get that for you." She politely declined and then we headed for the checkout. 

As we got back in the car, I sneaked a peek at her - right next to me in the passenger's seat. Long gone are the days where I have to push her out of the house, buckle her seatbelt, or view her through my rearview mirror. Now, she's right next to me, talking to me about life and love and all of the things. As we drove home, I was secretly wishing we were like an hour away from home - just so I could get more time with her before she headed back into her pre-teen bubble. I know our days won't always be like this, and we'll probably get in more fights and squabbles than we can count. But gosh, look at her. She is this confident, self-sufficient, smart, stunningly beautiful young woman. I am damn lucky to be her mother, and might I be a little hopeful if I say friend, too? And I hope she knows that I will always be here to hold her hand if she needs me to. And I would even be honored to sing "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine" until my voice gets hoarse. Whatever she needs, I'm here for her. 

I hope she knows I'm always just a "Maahhmm!!" away. 

I hope she knows that I think she is so smart, strong, brave, resilient, and beautiful. 

And I hope she knows I will always feel like the luckiest person alive to have her in my passenger's seat (at least until she has to fight her siblings for it). 

As she makes her way through pre-teen, to teen, to adult, I'll just be over here, playing it cool. You know - wiping butts, shoving kids in the car, and singing at the top of my lungs for the newest screaming baby "Giiirl put your records on tell me your favorite song" - just waiting until she needs her mama again.