It happens twice a day,
sometimes three. I could do it all day, but 5 minutes is heaven too. I look
forward to it the minute I drop the kids off at school.
It’s not with another man,
it’s with
my minivan.
The day begins like this:
The kids and I leave the house late for school. We argue in the parking lot, I
comb their hair with my fingers and double-check for hats and mittens. They
will have none, even if they left the house with some.
Next we negotiate the
crosswalk. Invariably we all decide to cross at the exact different moment.
Several other minivans in carline are trying to judge if I can see the child I’ve lost and if I'm going
after him or if I’m going to herd the one closest to me.
Inside the school, I
finally bid them adieu. As in, I look up and they are gone. “Why do I keep walking you
in?” I
ask. “You
don't even say good-bye to me!”
"You like to, remember?" they say.
"Yes," I say.
"Love to."
Then, in 5 minutes, the
chaos is over. They are shuffled into their rooms and I head back out to the
parking lot. The oldest not only didn't let me kiss him goodbye, he took a
swing at my head with his backpack to disguise the fact that I leaned toward
him face-first. I'm, in a word, pissed.
Enter the minivan.
I slide into the front
seat, shut the door. I lay my head back on the rest and recover from the
“backpack incident.” It's me and my minivan, alone at last.
I check my rearview
mirror. No one. I check the backseats, no one and a pair of mittens. I run my
fingers through my own hair now, take one more look in the mirror and notice I
look half hungover (I swear, I am not) but half decent. Most of all, there
is silence, held in by metal and bolts and door locks.
The affair can begin.
I get out my cell phone. I
check messages. I check Facebook. I click on a link to the newest books out
this week. I read a little review. I think about buying the book even.
I text
delightful repertoire with other moms sitting in other minivans in other
parking lots at other schools.
I keep
my head down at all costs; eye contact is deadly. If a passing truck takes off
my bumper, I will not look up. I am in the minivan space and, I do believe,
invisible.
Each morning it’s like
this. It’s only
5 minutes, but they're all mine. Later today I might find myself in my new
relationship again after groceries. Or after a meeting or after a run. Some
days it's before the run. Yes, it's
starting to take precedence over everything I do.
I’ve tried to break up.
Really, I have. It's bad for me, I know. It’s a waste of time, sitting in a parking lot, getting nothing
done, precious minutes, day after day.
But is it? I mined three
good comebacks out of a single rendezvous just this week. And I can easily
credit remembering everyone’s 2012 birthday to those 5 minutes of silence (and Facebook)
each day. Not to mention the sins I’ve not committed
because this one is so satisfying.
So, let’s face it. Next time you
see me in the minivan going nowhere, just keep walking. I’m busy, I'm working, I'm
otherwise engaged. Also, I'm invisible.
It appears that this
affair isn’t
ending anytime soon.