Hi, I’m Chantelle and I blog over at Mom Went Crazy. As you can tell by the name I have a notoriously short fuse.
I have learned a lot of patience since becoming a mom, but, like most of you, I need my own downtime.
Last Saturday was a particularly trying day for me. Lack of sleep combined with a teething baby doesn’t do much for the soul. My poor three year old took the brunt of it after the one hundredth round of “why mommy?”
At 3:05 my husband came home from work. At 3:06 I was in my car.
My car is my refuge on days when I’ve had enough.
When I was a teenager it was a way to escape my house, my parents, and the rules.
I was so excited to get my driver’s license. I’d go get milk, pick up my brother, or drop off the dry cleaning. Hell, I’d do it all and more just to get a chance to get behind the wheel and cruise.
When my first love broke my heart, I got in my car and drove around, crying and listened to love songs.
My car took me to more parties than I can count. It took me and my friends to prom. We smoked dope in the backseat and drank mickies on the hood at the beach.
When I was in my twenties I loved having the freedom of my own apartment. I didn’t need my refuge as much. The car became just a tool like any other. It was necessary to get me from point A to point B.
Now that my house has a man and two short people, I’ve rekindled my romance with the steering wheel.
When I’ve had enough, I escape my house, my kids, and the responsibilities.
I roll down the windows and don’t worry about which child is cold.
I blast the radio and it’s not “wheels on the bus”
I get ice cream and I don’t have to share.
In my car, there are no bills to pay, no kids to feed, and no house to clean.
I’m that girl again.
In my car, I’m me.