Jail Time On Mothering

“Mothering…The Days are Long but the Years Fly By”

“I did run a red light,” I confessed, “but safely!” I added, while holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder so I could help tie a shoe. And then, trying to rationalize my law breaking incident even more, I went on, “ It is amazing how habits can control us.” I could almost see my husband, Mark, shaking his head on the other end of the line.

I had the Junior High’s “drop off” system down pat, north to south, keep moving, don’t pass other cars in line, and be on time. The school even had put out cones so we would drive in the correct drop off lane, as teenagers spewed forth like syrup over hot pancakes, from the lineup of cars. This morning however, Melissa my daughter needed to be at school an hour early for basketball practice. Sitting in the passenger seat, eating her breakfast of jam on toast, then applying lip gloss, she reminded me, “Mom drop me at the gym door.” Dropping someone off at another door? Normally a big “no, no” but at 6:30 a.m. it was okay. No big deal right? I pulled to the curb, called out “have a great day” as Melissa climbed out of the car.

Now, this is where ‘habit’ takes me captive, made easier because it was early and I was feeling a little hazy. As I drove away from the school instead of being at the usual stop sign that I have been at hundreds of times, I pulled up at a traffic light. Instinctively thinking I was at the routine stop, I stopped, looked both ways, no cars coming, so I drove forward. As soon as I pulled out into the intersection I realized two things. One, I was running a red light and two; there was a police car adjacent to me! “Seriously?” I couldn’t believe it! I pulled over immediately to save myself the embarrassment of flashing lights and a blaring siren, although I already felt judging eyes on me coming from the few scattered cars of kids and parents. I was glad my daughter had already gone into the building Jr. High kids get embarrassed if you merely hug them goodbye, so this would be humiliating for her. Although, I am sure a classmate will laugh about the incident in her earshot during lunch in the cafeteria. Oh how we love the cafeteria.

I rolled down my window in agony, knowing that a ticket now would just add insult to injury. I had just received a speeding ticket two weeks earlier. (And, gulp, another one a year ago) No, I am not a reckless driver; it is just hard for me to drive 25 mph, which is the law in most of Naperville. Really 35 mph feels like you are hardly moving! “Hello officer,” I cringed as the morning mist blinded me for a moment and watered my eyes. “Hey, maybe I should work up some tears” I thought, but I wasn’t sure if that would even help my case. I smiled a worried smile as I handed over my driver’s license. He didn’t say a word, but rolled his eyes at me and then turned and walked back towards the glaring, flashing lights and climbed into the squad car. “At least he hadn’t turned on his siren.” I thought trying to soothe myself.

He seemed a little grumpy; maybe he is tired too. Sitting there shivering, a horrible thought came to me, “What if my license gets revoked! What would constitute that?” I wondered. Yet, as soon as that thought settled into my mind, a crazy idea came in and crowded it out. I immediately smiled (maybe I was a little delirious) and thought to myself, “Yes, what if the officer took away my license, that could be… wonderful! I wouldn’t be allowed to drive. Almost unconsciously I started making a list of the driving I had to do today. Let’s see Wednesday: soccer practice, piano lessons, errands and the church youth group… all of which I could be exempt from if my license was revoked. No more running kids around, here, there and everywhere!” Feeling good now, I couldn’t help taking it a step further, “What if the police officer not only revoked my license but also arrested me and put me in jail. The freedom! I could lay down on the bed, or would it be a cot? Whatever, I could lie there and read or nap all day without any commotion or interruptions. It would be my sanctuary I couldn’t help but daydream about the recharge and renewal a short stay in jail would grant me as a mother. I would be ALL BY MYSELF!

During this time in my life I had one child in high school (not old enough to drive), one in junior high, two in grade school and one preschooler at home. I was trying to keep up with every school activity, sport team, piano lesson, church commitment, community event, social happening, homework project and recreational pursuit that five children can possibly be involved in. To make things a little trickier, my husband traveled with his work, Monday morning through Thursday evening, late evening, every week. “Ah, no driver’s license.” I smiled, as I waited for my verdict. “What is taking the officer so long anyway? Maybe he really is putting out an APB on me. I wish he would hurry, I’ve got to get the other kids ready for school. Unless of course I was arrested.” I put my head back and envisioned myself in a quiet and calm jail cell. Don’t get me wrong I not completely delusional, I want jail time, not a stay in prison. The county jail, you know “Mayberry.” My one phone call wouldn’t be to an attorney but to my friend to have her bring me our latest book club book and my pillow.

The officer knocked on my window and I sat up like a bullet had gone off. As I lowered the window, wrist bared, ready to be cuffed, in my pajamas. My pajamas, I forgot! Oh and my hair! I am sure I looked pathetic to this uniformed man. If my thoughtless running of a red light didn’t signal “disaster” to this man, surely my appearance would. I tried explaining that I thought I was at a stop sign… but didn’t finish, –it even sounded ridiculous to me. He had my license between his two fingers like he was ready to smoke it. Then flipped his wrist towards me as a signal to take it. A little confused I took my license and the officer walked away. What? No ticket? Not even a condescending lecture about getting my life together and a stern warning? This never happens, maybe he carpools his kids too. I sat up, squared my shoulders, started up the car, relieved I didn’t have to pay the fine, yet surprisingly bereft as the peace and freedom jail would have granted me were washed away along with the drizzle on the windshield as I turned on  the  wipers.
That afternoon as I was confessing by phone my ‘red light’ law breaking incident,  to my husband, I started laughing when I told him about wanting jail time. He, however, wasn’t laughing along with me. “I am traveling too much,” he concluded. As we spoke, I was in the kitchen stirring up dinner, my teenagers were listening to music while studying, the little ones where shouting while playing ‘touched you last.’ They all looked up at once, like they had been given a signal from a choir director , when they heard me say, “I want jail time.” Hearing half of my phone conversation they looked puzzled and worried. Their mother wants to go to jail? “They’ll understand one day,” I mused. Mark was now talking of vacations and mother’s helpers. I was still thinking about solitude, books and no license, then uttered, “The kids can be creative on how to get somewhere. They can ride a bike or, heaven forbid, they could walk. Maybe other mothers will take pity on them and pick them up.” Silence on the other end. I didn’t know if he was agreeing with me or checking with the airlines to see if he could get on an earlier flight.

As I hung up the phone, the look on my kids faces made me feel compassionate, and I laughed out loud, because I love being a mother. I love the fact that I wake up and make school lunches for four beautiful children. I smile as they run for the school bus, still bottoming up a shirt and shoving homework into their backpacks. I love the Cheerios scattered on the counter. I love being in the bathroom thinking I am all alone and seeing chubby little fingers slide under the door. I love reading and snuggling with my two-year old before she takes her nap. I love working away on my long “to do” list. I love hearing my children banging through the door coming home with stories of their day’s activities. I love all the crazy, busy commotion that is my life.

Mothering, though, is certainly not for wimps. You’re the nurturer, the cook, the laundress, the nurse, the psychologist, the referee, the homework police, the dictionary, the place to wipe a runny nose and the one thing I did detest the taxi driver. I was a better juggler than a clown at a circus.

And what a circus mothering can be. For instance you say things you never thought you would say, comical things like, stop licking the floor, be careful the pan could get stuck on your head, please climb out of the dryer and don’t forget to use soap when you are showering. You find notes written to the tooth fairy that read, “Dear Tooth Fairy, my tooth has been under my pillow for three nights. Are you going to come?” And notes that say “I lub you.” You sometimes feel like a jungle gym with everyone climbing on you, vying for different positions. You feel proud of yourself after winning a negotiation with your two-year old, knowing that the conversation would have brought any executive to their knees. You want to get a “take a number” system going so everyone isn’t talking to you at once. A highlight of your day is finding the missing puzzle piece. There was a morning when I poured water on the cereal because I was out of milk, but I’d rather do this then go to the grocery store with everyone in tow. There are nights when you finally go to bed and get to curl up with a book, but the book is about how to do 6th grade math. The days are long but the years seem to fly by.

I look at the clock, it is piano lesson time, I yell to everyone to get into the minivan while I grabbed the dry cleaning, the grocery list, the two-year old and her shoes and sprint out the door. An hour later I am sitting in the car waiting for a second time today, this time waiting a few minutes for piano lessons to be over. I look over my shoulder at my two-year old, exhausted from running errands was taking a nap in her car seat, one shoe off and one shoe on, holding on to a half eaten cracker. I giggle at this, and it feels good to laugh. We hurry home for dinner just to jump in the car again afterwards to run off to the youth activity at church. Later that evening I called my husband back and told him I would trade jail time for the well deserved vacation he had suggested, but I still wanted to check into having my license revoked.

 

This event took place in 1999

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