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The drive from our house to our son’s school averages 22 minutes. In the afternoon, or if there is no traffic, I can make it in 18. With heavy traffic, or construction, or an accident, it can take much much longer. But 22 is a good number. I know this because his drop off line is between 8:30 and 8:40, precisely in that 10-minute window. If I miss that window, we are destined to be stuck in newly formed line of preschool parent’s cars, whose drop off is between 8:40 and 9:00. I know how long it takes because I know that we need to leave the house by exactly 8:12 to secure a place in our own line, and by 8:04 if he can convince me to drive through Dunkin Donuts on the way: a large sweet tea, a blueberry glazed donut, and a chocolate glazed donut for him, and an old fashioned donut for me.
I don’t know when it happened, or why it started, but one morning last fall, as we were heading to school—him devouring glazed donuts and me powering through a third cup of coffee—we were passed by a Volkswagen beetle. Without hesitation he reached over and hit my arm. “Punch buggy blue,” he said. It was on. For the rest of the ride we scoured parking lots, checked mirrors, spent traffic lights searching for ammunition. We like to play silly games, my son and I, so it was only natural we created one for the drive to school.
Because there aren’t many punch bugs between our house and his school, we spent the next few days inventing additional ways for us to further inflict pain: jab Jeep, poke police car, slap school bus, slug city bus, mash Mini Cooper, tickle Tesla, flick fire truck, pinch Porsche. In the end, we settled on three: Punch Bug (of course), Poke Police, and Slap School bus.
It’s an interesting part of the day, car rides, both for parents and children. In the age of constant, instant gratification, many children/teens are more than content to have their noses in a screen: their phone, an iPad, the movie playing on the television screen on the back of the front seats. Too often we, as parents, utilize these devices as baby sitters. Too often, we find ourselves slipping our child their iPad at the restaurant because we haven’t had a conversation with our partner in as long as we can remember, and we are too tired to argue about how long the food is taking, or why their sibling gets the last piece of bread, or why they can’t have dessert. Too often, we spend half of the drive to school with our own noses in a phone. We answer emails at red lights, text our partners about dry cleaning, or after school care, or grocery lists. Too often we forget that we have the opportunity to spend time with our children, and they with us. Too often we forget.
When we started playing our new game, “slap school bus” as we call it, our drive started to change too. Jack started putting his shoes on ahead of time. He did his math the night before (usually). He started taking the dogs out one last time without being forced. Maybe it’s because he likes winning, or maybe it’s because he doesn’t like losing, especially to me, or maybe it’s both, he has changed his routine to make time. I like to think that he just has fun playing with me.
When we play, something else happens. He begins to talk about things: songs he likes and why, school, friends, family. He talks about nothing and everything all at the same time. The 22 minutes of homework and grooming and panic and stress and noses in phones has been replaced by pointing and slapping and poking and light punching. Its also been replaced by laughter, and conversation, and friendly competition. I don’t know if the two are linked or if the silly game has been the catalyst for the change in our commute. I don’t know if its correlation or causation, as my therapist partner would say. In the end, it doesn’t really matter.
He usually wins.
There are 59 days left in this school year. If the average drive is twenty minutes, the two of us will spend approximately 19.6 hours together, each way, during our commute. That is less than a full week of work. Next year he will be in eighth grade, and we will get another 120 hours of drive time, give or take. After that, he will be in a public high school and ride the bus to school, something he is already excited about. I want to make our time together valuable. I want him to want to spend time with me, like I do with him. I want every minute of the three hours next week, the 39 hours left in this school year, and one hundred 20 of eighth grade commute to be meaningful. I want them to count.
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Photo credit: Shutterstock
