Have I Got An Enhanced Interrogation Technique For You!

 For a long time, I enjoyed car rides with my children, especially during those months when they were transitioning out of their nap.  We might head out in the later afternoon to "house shop" as we were preparing for a move.  I would strap in the youngsters, plug in my iPod and hit the road.  Usually, I had to wait about 6 minutes before they were fast asleep behind me.  And then I had a nice little respite during the roughest part of my day.  I would play all my favorite songs as I cruised sub-divisions checking out For Sale options and getting a feel for different neighborhoods. 

Nowadays, my rolling fortress of solitude is more of a mobile torture chamber.   No one sleeps now.  And, not only do they not sleep, they argue, and it's normally about something important and requiring high volume like "my piece of pink Trident is the tastiest!" or "I am not going to play puppy dog anymore so stop trying to give me pretend dog biscuits!" or "He got to see the helicopter and I didn't! You HAVE to turn around, Mom!"

Music soothes the savage beast, right?  Um, no.  My kids "take turns" choosing which song to play on the iPod.  This consists of first, an argument about who's turn it is to choose the first song.  Then, once they have established the order in which they choose and their choice has been made, the song begins.  Now the chooser of song begins spouting off the rules which usually include several of the following:

• Only the chooser may sing
• I can sing and you can ONLY play the air drums
• Absolutely no singing and no air drumming
• There's no dancing
• There is no silently mouthing the words

These rules are diligently policed and more arguing insues as the rule breakers are verbally reprimanded.  By now the song is in it's last 30 seconds and there is yet another argument on why we can or cannot listen to the song again because the chooser has missed the whole song while they were reciting the rules and admonishing those who were disobeying them.  The most interesting thing about this argument is that 66% of the time, the next chooser chooses the exact same song.  And, even though it is the same song, they must run through the list of rules as they have been altered slightly to suit the desires of the said chooser.

So, you ask, why don't I just turn off the music completely, right? When the music is off, the atmosphere consists of arguing about other topics, such as who can and who cannot kick the back of the seats, as in, 'the one in front of me is empty so I CAN.'  (Of course, Chuckles sits behind me and is particularly fond of this game.)  Or, if they are not arguing, someone is putting on an elaborate show that inevitably leads to a request for approval, as in, 'Look Mom, I've tied myself up in silly bands!'  These actions, if acknowledged in any form, require that the others must outperform the performer.  Then, the van begins to sound something like this, "Mom look, Mom look, Mom, Mama, Mommy, Mom, Mom, Mommy, Mama, Mommy, Mom, Mommy, Mama! Mama! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! MOMMY! MOM! MOM! MOM! MAMA! MAMA! MAMA! MAMA! MAMA! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM!"

So, what happens when someone is subjected to this torture on a regular basis?  Well, those in the greater Indianapolis area may have heard a strange sound Thursday.  You see, it was the fourth day of theater camp.  It's a 30-minute drive to theater camp which means one solid hour in the car at 8:30am for dropoff  and again at 11:30am for pickup.  So, at approximately 12:24pm Thursday, my head exploded at the intersection of 465 and Allisonville Road.  My apologies to the driver of the black Subaru in the lane next to me as I believe the shrillness of my scream actually cracked his windshield.  Birds made emergency landings on the nearest telephone wire, brakelights blinked for miles in either direction, computer connections momentarily froze in nearby offices and my van was filled with a sound I haven't heard in years...silence.

Rants - "...a rose by any other name..."

I don't consider myself an overly opinionated person but I do have a few things that send me into a grandpa rant.  For example, can we review the reasons we stopped calling a girdle, a girdle?  When you mention the word girdle, most husbands quickly turn their heads  and bolt.  And not only do they leave the bathroom so you can get ready in peace, but they keep the kids away too, in an effort to shield them from whatever a freaking girdle is.  It's blissful!

Now we call them 'Spanx' or, if you shop Target, 'Assets.'  When I first mentioned needing a pair, my husband told me to go to the store right then.  He had no idea what a spanx was, but with a name like that, it couldn't be bad for him, right?  When it was time for me to get ready to go out, I lost my solitude as he would make up excuses to keep coming into the bathroom, hoping for some sort of view.

So, why the name change?  Is it less humbling to squeeze your cellulite-wrinkled buttocks and upper thighs into something with a sexy name?  No, I'd much rather call it by a name that is as disgusting as the act.  I'm not striving for Barbie (thank goodness, cause look at this!), I would just like to go out without the extra jiggle.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to clean my dentures...