Dear Family Car,
Yesterday as I was driving from the city to my in-laws farm, I looked in the rear view mirror to see that my two kids aged 2 and 3.5 were fast asleep. This is a common occurrence on trips long enough to warrant cruise control but what really warmed my heart was that this time, they were holding hands.
When I arrived at the farm I quickly snapped a pic to capture that rare and precious moment of sibling love before the kids woke up and started fighting over whose turn it was to play with the toy fire truck.
It got me thinking about all the special moments we’ve experienced since we drove you out of the dealership shortly before the birth of our first child, Max. I was unsure about saying goodbye to my trustworthy little hatchback and upgrading to a People Mover, but the energetic salesman got me over the line thanks to your French champagne features being compatible with our box wine budget. Lucky he did, because your seven seats and roomy boot have been filled to the brim with scooters, boogie boards and prams ever since – especially when we head away for the weekend or relatives come to stay. While you’re looking decidedly more derelict than the day we bought you (aren’t we all), you’ve become our mobile cocoon as we ferry our way through life, blasting Bob the Builder and Let It Go through your six-speaker entertainment system while singing along in a variety of keys.
Jacqui and her young song. Image: supplied.
While we are on unpleasant sounds, do you remember the day we brought Max home? He screamed like a demented chicken all the way from the hospital to our tiny house while I sat in the back and tried to soothe him feeling completed daunted by the task ahead. Eighteen months later, we were back at the hospital filling you with more precious cargo when Hugo arrived, calm and peaceful leading us to falsely believe that he would be the quiet one. Now your backseat carries two confident and chatty toddlers plus our fluff child all over town and is covered in crumbs, Lego and babycino stains. The only thing that has remained the same is that most days I still have no idea what I’m doing.
As a working mum, I can’t wait to pick my two munchkins up from childcare, load them into their car seats and hear all about their day. In the five minutes it takes us to drive home from the childcare centre, I get to tell them how much I missed them and they get to tell me all the important parts of their day – like how they drew pictures of dinosaurs, played in the sandpit and gave each other punk mohawks courtesy of the chalk box. If I’m lucky I’ll get an “Eye wuv ooo” from my two-year-old which alleviates any guilt I may feel at not being with them three days a week.