My Van’s Secret Weapon

In addition to two tweens, I also have three toddlers. Well, technically, Juliette, at four, is a preschooler, but she’s a shrimp and acts like she’s two most of the time, so… whatever.

I spend 75% of my time in a car. A VERY LOUD CAR. Someone is always whining about something, a funny sock, or an itchy butt, or a rumbling stomach, or asking to turn the music up, or down, or off. Usually all at the same time. I guess my children think I’m a superhero because they are constantly asking me to come to the back and pick up a dropped toy, or tie a shoe, all while I’m trying desperately to avoid the urge to drive off the overpass. Add to it Juliette’s major aversion to “the high part” aka: the interstate, and my van qualifies as one of the circles of hell.

But today, today I remembered something my Daddy taught me.

You see this? Do you know what that little red triangle is?

No, it’s not a button for the hazard lights. Silly rabbit.

That there is an EJECT BUTTON.

Yep. That’s right. All I have to do is push that little button and my kids will automatically fly from the car. WHOOSH. Out onto the street, where they will have to walk home.
Come on, you didn’t think they’d be squished by oncoming traffic did you? YOU.ARE.SO.MORBID.

Every time it gets ridiculously loud in my car, you know, when the three girls are screaming “ECHO! ECHO!” at the top of their lungs to see if they can hear the reverberations in my brain, I simply lean forward and hover my finger over this little button. Magically, they stop.

“NO MAMA! Don’t ‘ject us! We don’t wanna walk in da stweet!” they call. And yes, they are a little scared, but they are also laughing so I figure it’s only worth a couple of therapy sessions. At this point, what’s the difference?

Juliette did ask if I’d ever ejected anyone before. I cannot tell a lie, so I had to say no.

“Well, how do you know dats what it does?” (Hmm… maybe I should give her more credit.)

“I know because my father told me, and now I’m passing it on to you.”

Blessed quiet.

Mucho Gracias Dad. Don’t worry, they’ll thank us both some day.