Moms with cars drive kids. Day after day, sometimes past my bedtime and once in a while when I’d like to be sleeping longer.
Yesterday my son felt a little badly about all the time I’d spent driving him around that day. Really, he did much of the driving while I took my proper place in the passenger seat beside the permit-driver.
I assured him the time sitting next to him in the car is some of my favorite time. “You’re stuck hanging out with me!” I did not say out loud, hoping he wouldn’t realize we were actually hanging out.
Wise voices long ago warned me not to look disparagingly at the hours and hours driving kids each week. It is sacred time, particularly when there is one kid and one grown-up in the car.
Windshield time is time to ask little questions and dream big dreams. Time to process the tiny moments and peek into the huge future. When my family moved from the Twin Cities to Dickinson, my husband and I both missed our 30-45 minute commutes. We spent the time processing our workdays before arriving home. It was sacred time to think and wonder.
In our very short commutes with kids (which are not short enough when there is a fighting mob of kids in the car!) it is time to hang out. Time to wonder, “How did that go?”, “What’s next?”, “What do you need?”. Mostly, it is uninterrupted time to listen. Time to assure a kid he or she is loved just as he or she is, now and always.
Lisa Lewton 