Adventures in Real Parenting: Three Tales from the Chauffeur

On Saturday, Sophie took the SAT as part of a special program through Duke University. When I arrived to pick her up, I asked how it went.

"Fine," she said. "The math part was hard, but the rest went okay."

"That's good," I responded. "Are you okay?"

"Uh huh. I just have to poo. I've had to poo since the test started."

"Why didn't you go?"

"I don't go like that in public restrooms. You know that."

She's right. I do. It's a genetic quirk passed down from mother to child that will only be cured upon entry to university dorm living and several days of constipationally induced ickyness followed by the consumption of many beers.

We drove along in uncomfortable silence for a while until I couldn't stand it anymore. "Hey, Sophie?"

"Yes?"

"Put a bird on it."

"Cacao*, mother."

************

Sophie spent the night with a friend and I as I drove to fetch her, I listened to Raw Dog Comedy on Sirisus/XM.  Patton Oswalt was doing a bit about air travel.

I arrived at the friend's house, parked the car and climbed the steps to ring the bell. Sophie came to the door balancing a plate with what was left of her breakfast.

When we got back into the car, another comedian was telling jokes about shaving his penis area and putting Nair on his balls.

"Wow," I said, "That's pretty raunchy."

"Not to mention I'm trying to eat here," Sophie grumbled.

"Yeah, penis jokes aren't really meal conversation, are they?" I asked as I pulled up at the stop sign and looked at her.

She considered at the sausage link poised between her two fingers and sighed as she dropped it back onto the plate.

***********

Sophie's tail was dragging as she ate breakfast and showered. Fearing she might miss the bus, I went to move the car into the garage so the coating of frost would melt. When I tried to release the hand brake, it wouldn't budge. MathMan was the last person to drive the car and he's like Iron Man when it comes to setting the brake.

I struggled. I broke a thumbnail. I turned off the radio - how that might help, I had no idea, but it made me feel like I was accomplishing something. I cranked the heat. I may have cursed. Nothing. Thinking that once the car warmed up, maybe the brake would release, I left the defrosters on high heat. Either way, I figured, the windows would be frost free.

When Sophie finally succumbed to my hectoring and threats to make her (gasp!) walk the mile to school, we made it out to the car. I turned the radio on and became immediately sucked into a mystery on Radio Classics.

The drop-off line at school crept. The mystery was reaching a crescendo. The inspector was about to reveal who was behind The Voice of Doom. I inched along paying careful attention to the kids crossing over from the far lane. The car in front of us paused for a couple of kids to cross. The line moved and I followed.

"Um, Mom? Are you going to let me get out?"

"Oh! Sorry." I stopped beyond the principal's parking spot so she could get out. She shook her head but said nothing.

"You're welcome!" I shouted as she closed the car door.

I drove home without mishap.

As I passed the overflowing trashcan near the door, I decided that since no one else was going to handle it (there's my personal motto if ever I had one), I would tie up the bag and put in a new one. I started to tug the heavy bag from the can and a mouse jumped out just missing me.

I screamed and wet my pants a little. The mouse, unharmed and dry, scurried behind the furnace.

The end.


*Cacao (Not safe for work)

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Amanda Fucking Palmer