A Mom’s Definition of a “Fun Ride”

My husband likes cars.  And trucks.  And SUV’s.  And motorcycles.  And ATV’s.  And jet skis.  Basically, if it has an engine, he loves it.  Some friends were kidding him recently, saying that he changes cars like other people change clothes.  When we did the math, it was a bit surprising:  in the eight years since I’ve known him, he’s had five cars (versus the two I’ve had over the same time period).

Recently, he decided to trade in his gas guzzling full-size SUV for a sedan.  With a commute of over 20 miles, and gas prices hovering just below $4/gallon at the time, I was all for the switch.  So he researched.  And he test drove.  And he came home with a sedan.

A “performance” sedan.

Or, as one neighbor put it, a “souped up” sedan.  With something called “4 piston Brembo front brakes.”  And something called “steering wheel mounted magnesium paddle shifters.”  And a satellite-linked navigation system that includes a backup camera so you can see behind you when going in reverse.

During the first week my husband had the car, after his constant encouragement to “take it for a spin,” I went out after the boys were in bed and drove it.  The sun was still out (it was summer), so I rolled down the windows and rolled back the sunroof.  I turned the radio up loud, to help drown out the loud hum of the engine (and my own singing).  I drove it around the nearby neighborhoods, relaxing for these few minutes, the wind blowing my ponytail and forcing thoughts of laundry to be folded and toys to be picked up out of my head.

When I got home, my husband asked me if indeed that was not a very “fun ride.”

I conceded, it was fun.  I didn’t tell him that the fun was actually the few moments of peace between getting boys to bed and picking up the nightly routine of housekeeping, versus the drive of the car.

It turns out, a few days later, the time came to turn my youngest son’s car seat forward.  He was about at the one year mark, and was so long that his legs were getting uncomfortably bent up as he sat in his convertible seat facing the rear of the mini-van.  The first day we turned his seat forward was a new experience for everyone in the car.  Luke no longer had to crane his neck to see Mommy or Daddy driving, Jack and Luke were seated basically side by side, and I – always in the passenger seat on the weekends with Daddy driving – got to see the faces of my two beautiful boys anytime I wanted to just by turning in my chair.

On this first day, driving home from some errand, sippy cups in the hands of both boys, Luke out of the blue spit water out of his mouth (the first time he’d ever done so).  Not far, and not a lot…the water just dribbled down his chin.  He was so pleased with himself, though, he did it again.  Without thinking, I laughed.  So, of course, Jack copied him and did it, too.  Soon, we had two boys in the backseat, looking at each other, laughing, having a very unsuccessful (thank goodness) spitting contest.  I laughed, too, because the way they were laughing together, it was impossible not to.  And before you know it, the whole car was in hysterics.

At some point, Jim and I came to our senses about encouraging spitting inside the car and we got the boys to be distracted by making some other funny noise with their mouths.  Fortunately, we weren’t far from home, so the boys didn’t make it back to the original source of hilarity before we hit the garage.

Later that evening, after the boys were asleep, the house picked up,  and dinner dishes cleaned, Jim and I sat in bed.  I told him, “Hon, now that was a fun ride.”

He looked at my quizzically at first, but then he understood.

A mom’s definition of a “fun ride” is her whole family in the car together, enjoying a moment of hilarity, not a care in the world.  Seeing two sons share a moment of innocent conspiracy.  Catching a glimpse of what the next several years would be bringing in terms of chaos, sloppiness, and boys being boys.

Yep, now that’s what I call a “fun ride.”