I got an interesting tip from the counselor at my children’s school
several years ago. She’s a genius, and
let’s face it, my kids could use a little genius in their lives, cuz they sure
ain’t gettin’ it from me. I often wish
this counselor could just take my kids home and raise them for me, delivering
well-adjusted, college educated, happy, normal contributing members of society
back to me in a couple decades.
Anyway, the tip she gave me had to do with carpooling.
Carpooling can be an enormous blessing in our lives as
parents. How many times have you had to
pick up one child in one location and another child in a different location at
the exact same time? It happens every
Tuesday afternoon at our house. Sewing
class and cross-country practice both end at 5:00 pm. There is only one of me and two places to be
and sadly, no carpool to be had. So, the
older kid waits. He’s hot and sweaty and
tired and thirsty and he wants desperately to get home and finish his homework
because that’s the kind of kid he is, and he has to stand around waiting for
his ride. Meanwhile, little sister’s
chauffeur shows up right on time, and she hops in the back seat bragging about
the new scrunchie she made without missing a beat. Trust me, if there was a carpool option that
would help our Tuesday 5:00 situation, I would absolutely use it.
I have a carpool for Libby’s gymnastics practices that is truly a
lifesaver. It helps everyone in our
family and I’m grateful for the women involved.
I wouldn’t give up our gymnastics carpool for anything less than a
pro-bono limo driver, and I’ve yet to meet one.
Still, I understand why the genius counselor provided the advice she
did, which was this . . .
“You should only use carpools when absolutely necessary, because a
lot of really important conversations you can have with your kids are likely to
take place in the car.”
Why the car? you ask.
It’s simple. Because research
has shown kids are more likely to discuss serious topics when they don’t have
to make eye contact with you AND aren’t threatened by the reaction you might
have (since you’re supposed to be preoccupied with the gas pedals and steering wheel
and Atlanta’s rush hour traffic). It
makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? And I
believe that genius counselor, because I had this extremely important and very
enlightening conversation last week in the car with my recently turned nine (but
thinks she’s closer to thirteen) daughter:
Lib: Mom, lots of girls on the teams at the gym have sports
bras. When can I get a sports bra to
wear under my gymnastics leotard?
Me: Uhhhh (thinking fast
about the best way to answer this question without A, hurting my child’s
pre-pubescent feelings and B, making sure my child knows she’s flat-out nuts if
she thinks I’m buying her a bra anytime soon) . . . I’ll be happy to get
you one just as soon as you need it, honey.
Lib: When will that be?
Me: Uhhhh (concentrating hard so as not to make any
statements my child can later turn into things I “absolutely promised,” as she
has been known to do in the past, and keeping my tone as matter-of-fact as
possible in the hopes that she will feel comfortable having this kind of
conversation with me again in the future) . . . When you get breast buds.
Lib: (without attempting to
hide the disgust in her voice) . . . Breast buds? What in the world are breast buds?
Me: (starting to sweat a
little thinking about where this conversation could go from here) . . . Remember
how we’ve talked about the way God decides when boys and girls go through
puberty and start growing into men and women, and how many things change in
your bodies when you go through puberty?
Lib: (with large amounts of skepticism)
. . . Yeaaaaaaaa.
Me: (gaining confidence in
my parenting abilities by the second) . . . Well, one of the things that
changes for girls is they begin to grow breasts. Breast buds are the beginning of those
breasts, and they are a sign that a girl is going through puberty.
Lib: (less disgusted and
more intrigued) . . .When will I get breast buds?
Me: (thankful the
conversation is surely about to end and wondering when my parent-of-the-year
award will arrive in the mail) . . . Only God knows that, honey.
Lib: So, when did you get
breast buds?
Me: (wondering why this
conversation didn’t end as expected) . . . Oh, I was pretty late to start going
through puberty. And actually (deciding to insert a joke here might not
have been my best move), I’m not so sure my breast buds ever really turned
into breasts, like most people’s do (come
on, that’s funny if you know me and my size nearly A’s).
Lib: (not laughing and
possibly close to tears): But . . . I
don’t want my breasts to be like
yours.
I want BIG ones.
?
!
?
!
I could tell you the rest of the conversation – there was some frightening
ridiculousness that dribbled out of my mouth unexpectedly about a box of
chocolates and how you never know what you’re gonna get and only the Lord knows
the plans He has for you and maybe you’ll be more like your grandmothers or
great-grandmothers or the people who can shop at Victoria’s Secret and buy real
bras instead of training bras and it was all VERY. VERY. BAD. I’m still trying to
figure out why I felt the need to connect Forrest Gump and God during this
intimate conversation with my daughter about boobs, but that’s what I did.
So carpool away my friends – we’re all doing the best we can and
sometimes the best means another person drives your children - but make sure
you still have some one-on-one time with your kids in the car on occasion,
because it’s true . . . in life, you never know what you’re gonna get. And if you’re lucky, one day, you might just
get your daughter sharing her BIG dreams with you from the back
seat.
