Flaky car pool Mom
home
home
siliconmom.com
Flaky Car pool Mom By Martha Levison I keep one eye on the road and two hands on the steering wheel while counting three blond bowl cuts and a brunette buzz cut bobbing in my rearview mirror. A curly top, my son, Sam, sits beside me. It's the first day of sixth grade, after-school carpool, and as usual, I drive five miles under the speed limit, slow through intersections and allow countless oversized SUVs to merge in front of me. I've been carpooling these little guys, making sure each was buckled in, shoes tied and backpacks not forgotten, since they attended kindergarten. Careful Carpool Mom With the Perfect Record, I would have adopted my little charges and their pet iguanas in the wake of a natural disaster. Now the five of them bounce along to Green Day's "Basket Case" blaring on the radio and smell as fresh as a full day of middle school recess, P.E. and an hour of flag football practice in 90-degree heat. Five adolescent, prepubescent -- Five?!? Sam, David, Kevin, Kit, Kyle? I quickly turn off the radio. "Where's Chad?!" Screams of laughter drown out Green Day. Sam squeals, "Mom, I can't believe you forgot Chad!" I thought I'd counted six boys. They smelled like six boys. They smelled like 10 boys. I forgot Chad! I cut the wheel and screech across three lanes into a left U-turn, just catching the end of the yellow light and cutting off a merging Suburban. "Mrs. Levison," Kevin shouts over the wildness. "Can't you just drop us off? We're almost home." "No. Chad needs me!" I shout. Poor little Chad. I visualize him sobbing, pounding on the locked school office door. A piece of crumpled notebook paper blows across the school courtyard. The wind chills, snow threatens. I lay on the horn and speed past a minivan with two babies in car seats in the back. What will I tell Chad's mom? "Don't worry," she'll say. "We have another child." Then she'll never speak to me again. My kids will have to eat lunch all by themselves. I squeal through the crosswalk into the school parking lot. The stop-sign waving crossing guard spins around like a top. There's Chad -- lying under a tree. His lanky 5-foot frame stretches back against his elbows, size 10 skateboarding shoes cross casually at the ankles and the September sunlight illuminates the faint down blurring his sharp jawline. A circle of equally relaxed, broad-shouldered, flag footballers, sit cross-legged around him. "Chad, honey, I am so sorry. Are you OK?" "Yeah, I was going to wait another 10 minutes and call my mom on my cell phone," his voice cracks. He opens the front door and folds himself in next to Sam. I lean my head against the steering wheel, breathe deeply and try to convince myself that these kids still need me, Flaky Carpool Mom. Maybe tomorrow I'll let Chad drive. About the Author: Martha Levison is a mother of two teenage boys, writer, wife, and Welsh Corgi owner who lives in Danville, California. She enjoys running, frequent trips into San Francisco, and boating with her family on the California Delta. Her work has appeared in the LA Times, San Francisco Chronicle and KQED Radio. She also sings with the Rolling Stones in her spare time.
