As my kids have gotten older, road trips have definitely become much easier (minus, of course, the occasional motion sickness puke). Thank God, I no longer have to change shitty diapers in the backseat or figure out how to keep bottles from going bad. Finally, at long last, the kids can feed themselves and keep their eyes out for the nearest bathroom exit. However, with age, unfortunately, comes awareness. And I now have to endure the wrath of two children who understand the words to WAY too many songs and who’ve become the all-time champs of backseat driving.
You can probably understand why I nearly drove into a ditch when I heard my eight-year-old son singing along happily with Rihanna, “Sex in the air, I don’t care; I love the smell of it.” Yeah, thanks for that, RiRi. I’m sure his camp counselors this summer will get a HUGE kick out of that. And I thoroughly enjoyed explaining why it’s not appropriate for a little boy to be singing about how much he loves sex, all while barreling down the highway at 75 miles per hour in the family truckster. And the fun didn’t just stop at that one song either. Turns out that both of my kids know the lyrics to nearly every inappropriate song that’s played on the radio. Awesome! Where’s the damn Disney station when you need it??!!
And if their cringe-worthy karoake-ing wasn’t bad enough, I also had the pleasure of not one but TWO backseat drivers for the entire duration of the trip. Let me just tell ya how swell it is when you’ve got a little head peering over your shoulder for SIX FRIGGIN’ HOURS telling you when you go even one mile over the speed limit or when you accidentally forget to signal. It’s also a roarin’ good time when someone who can’t even ride her bike in a straight line is telling you when you should and shouldn’t pass other cars.
I suppose though that despite the annoying atmosphere inside the car, I should be grateful that for once, I didn’t have to scoop out vomit from the floor boards. I’d much rather have someone bee-bopping to tales of S&M while telling me how to drive than to have the stench of gut soup in my nose for hours on end. Little things really do mean a lot, ya know.