I love music in the car, like most people. But when my daughters are with me, it’s not always easy listening.
Me: Ooh! Love this song.
[Turns it up to hear over backseat bickering]
Biggest Daughter: Mommy, I’m taking my lunch to school tomorrow. Today was yucky.
[Turns radio down.]
Me: Oh, yeah? What’d you eat?
I only half-listen. The other half sings along with Gwen Stefani.
Biggest: Blah blah gross blah blah blah…
Me: Mmm… Mm-hmm. Sounds delicious.
[Turns back up as song changes to John Mayer, a favorite. Turns up louder.]
Littlest Daughter: Mommy! Look at those cows. They’re running! Why are they running?
[Turns down radio. So sorry, John.]
Me: It’s feeding time. See the truck? The cows know the farmer’s just arrived with food.
Littlest: I’m gonna be a cowgirl when I grow up. Mommy, do you know where my cowgirl hat is?
Me: Basement. Find later. Listen now. Pretty.
[Turns it up again. Say What You Need to Say, John. Go ahead, buddy. But he’s done, darnit; it’s someone different, fluffy.]
Biggest: Mommy, what’s this song about? Did she say “crazy voices”?
[Turns it down. Again. With a little bit of huff.]
Me: No! She sang “many choices.” If you listen, you’ll hear. Listen! She’s telling a story.
[Turns up, just one more time. I am determined.]
Littest: Mommy, what are we having for dinner tonight?
[Turns radio OFF. Because why bother? I mean, really.]
Me: Food. We’re having food.
Biggest: Will you turn the radio back on, Mommy?