The mommy van horror show!

I drive a mommy van. The irony of this is enormous – because I am a terrible driver. With terrible spatial issues. I do not suit this VERY large car, AT ALL! Perhaps I’d be okay if I lived in a place like Texas with single roads that are wider than my whole neighborhood. But I don’t. I live in a tiny Israeli city, with tiny roads and zero parking.

My car has so many dents ( some of which I REFUSE to take responsibility for) that its hardly worth repairing them, and also – my husband had to basically beg an insurance company to reinsure our car. You get my drift. It’s a space thing, I swear.

Anyway – my bashed up piece of crap, middle eastern, mommy van, is also second home to 5 monstrous small to large offspring. It does basketball and soccer rota’s with extremely smelly teenage boys, and has to deal with my car seats, booster seats, cheerios, sandwich crust, chocolate wrappers…you get the picture.

So this week my parents were coming back from a 3 month vacation in Australia. For those of you who have never been, Sydney is the most beautiful place on earth. Everything is beautiful, the views, the beaches, the people and of course the sparkling clean cars. My father has forever lamented the state of cars in Israel. Why are they all dented? Why are they so dusty?

It’s the middle east dad, it’s the desert… you know – dust…cars get dirty here.

My father has made it his mission to fight this trend – and despite the rest of the country, his car is always washed, always sparkly. “Clean desk, clean car… clean mind! “

GEVALT!

So after a couple clients in the morning, I run out to do a shop for their apartment (good daughters always make sure mom and dad come back to food) and as I’m driving I think…

“Jeez Louise, I cannot pick my parents up in this… thing. They will die. It will be like making them land (after 30 hours of flying) in a pre school just after lunchtime”

The thing is – I was no way in hell going to make it to a car wash and the airport in time. So, I flew home like a bat gone wild. Grabbed the vacuum, a micro fibre cloth and some serious spray and proceeded to wipe my car down like a ninja on speed. Then I got out the hose and cleaned the outside of the car, windows wiped and all. Desert dust… I shall smite you with all my might. I was fast and furious. My clean mind was on the line here.

In record time I was back on the road. Perfect daughter… food in the fridge, sparkly car – ready for an airport pick up. All was well and on track – minus my slightly wet shoes… until of course, five minutes from the airport - a bird crapped all over the windshield.

And then… it started to rain.

I laughed… because it was pretty damn funny. And what else was this ninja speed car washing woman meant to do?

But it occurred to me that, despite being a mom and having my own family, and a decent amount of life perspective… I still care so much that my parents think the world of me. I care enough – that I would start washing my car like a crazy person in need of an institution.

How true that must also be for our own children. Despite what they say or do…our judgement matters and they never stop caring what mom or dad thinks. Probably in more ways than we would ever have even thought possible.

CAR ADVENTURES TAKE 2

So my car broke down again. (thanks Ford Galaxy for producing the most badly made car on the planet – like an actual piece of JUNK. badly. made. Car!)

I was returning home late from the smelly teenage boy soccer mommy drop off – and as I’m backing into the driveway, I hear chunk, clunk, doonk.

“What did I hit shaiki?” I asked my slightly pale son.

“I don’t know mom… I don’t think you hit anything; it sounds like something fell out the car”

It had.

An enormous chunk of rubber and metal burnt to bits had just dropped out my car.

Ford Motor Company’s very thoughtful response was; ( I hope they are reading my tags!)

“Normal wear and tear”!!!!

Now I know I’m not a good driver, I almost border on the pretty damn awful spatially challenged part of the spectrum – but in 23 years of driving, I HAVE NEVER HAD THE BOTTOM OF MY CAR FALL OUT!!!

Sometimes I think this car mimics aspects of my life.

The car is big. Much bigger than any car my rather small 5’1 ft self ever thought she would drive. It fits a lot of people. A lot of activity. It goes though the rain and cold. The brutal heat and long distances. The back and forward from the myriad of everyday life. And its mostly reliable, even pretty damn great… except when it just suddenly decides for no apparent reason – I’ve had enough! And its engine breaks down. The oil tank gives in. Or hell, a big chunk of the bottom eventually just falls out.

This feels a bit like me – or maybe many people.… we are mostly larger than life kind of great.

Except sometimes all the inertia just suddenly runs out.

Almost like we didn’t see it coming and suddenly parts of us feel like they have collapsed in a heap.

No real reason… just normal wear and tear.

I can and regrettably will have to replace my car.

But there is no other me.

Some will say take the break, breathe, invest in self-care…and it really is all of that, but it’s also something more.

Because wherever you go, there you are.

Unlike the car that just stops driving. We often don’t have the right or the luxury. But what I think we need to best survive the very ‘everyday’ parts of our lives, is the much-needed experience of surrounding ourselves with people who are able to notice us when the tired and broken parts are falling out. We don’t only need to be washed or waxed, oiled or recharged.

We all sometimes just need to be told: I hear you. I see you. I get you. Can I hold your hand while you carry the load or is there at least something we can share?

Otherwise it gets too much. And regular life turns us into an unrecognizable kind of scrap metal.