CHILDREN and cars are a strange combination. Most mothers I know have no option but to drive around in some practical, roomy vehicle that will accommodate not only the little darlings but all their paraphernalia and a week’s shopping.
In most cases their cars are nothing short of a toxic dump and should probably display a hazardous waste sticker.
Interestingly, all the men I know, including my ex-husband, have cars that are clinically clean and probably more hygienic than your average hospital.
My children are barely allowed to breathe anywhere near his precious Land Rover, let alone eat a Peperami in it.
I gave up worrying about the state of the mats and the occasional sticky sweet welded to the upholstery years ago, and conceded defeat in the ‘divorced parents clean car challenge’ because I had far more important things to worry about than half a packet of cheesy Wotsits under the back seat.
However, I have recently had something of an epiphany. Having had to contend with the torturous school run for the last 10 years, I have paid scant attention to my car, but I have now developed a new love for my Ford Focus.
As both of my children are now delivered to school by bus, my morning and afternoon drives to and from work or meetings are a tranquil and heavenly experience, and apart from the odd gumshield or empty sandwich packet, my car is calm and clean.
No longer do we have the panic of homework or PE kit left behind by mistake, or run the risk of a child opening the door and letting himself out...while the car is moving.
The endless squabbles about who sits in the front are a distant memory and my seat is not kicked during tantrums caused by the garage having run out of Rowntree’s Randoms.
Ah the joy of Radio Four or Radio Two! No longer am I forced to listen to hideous Radio 1 or referee with one hand on the steering wheel while my children wrestle on the back seat.
And talking of back seats, it no longer resembles an extension of a boy’s bedroom. Instead of the plastic guns, bits of Lego, felt tip pens, sweetie wrappers and socks, I have my jacket draped over the back seat and the odd bag of shopping.
This is what I can only describe as motoring bliss.
I had almost forgotten about children and their behaviour in cars until I found myself waiting at some traffic lights only to be faced with two sticky, dirty little faces in the back of Mummy’s MPV who were taking great delight in sticking their tongues out and their fingers up at me as I sat waiting for the lights to turn green.
A friend asked me if I was missing the school run, the little chats in the morning, and those oh-so-special quiet times with your children that are just so precious.
I gave it some considered thought and then laughed...AS IF!
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