long days

If I type this out and publish it on the Internet, maybe my poor husband will be spared hearing this diatribe one more time. I'm not sure, but I think these words have come out of my mouth every September in some shape or form for the last 10 years.

Female contestants of Survivor, why do you refuse, year in and year out, to:

• Carbo-load for a month before you go on the show. How can all of you be so emaciated (save the saline implants) four days into the show?
• Pack weather-appropriate gear. Nowadays, you can find waterproof, moisture-wicking, lightweight outdoor gear at REI, Nike, or even Target. There is no excuse for going through challenges wearing a banndana for a top (especially given the saline implant issue mentioned earlier.)
• Wear hardier undergarments. This is not the time for the lacey push up bras, ladies. SPORTS BRAS. This will also help you avoid some of the bandanna slippage seen tonight.

That is all, and I will never speak of this again. I promise.

As previously mentioned, I've been driving a lot the past few months. A lot. And here's what I have to say about that experience:

PRIUS OWNERS: THAT STUPID HYBRID DECAL IS NOT A LICENSE TO PARK YOUR ASS IN THE CARPOOL LANE AND GO 65 MPH DURING COMMUTE HOURS. IF YOU WANT TO DRIVE LIKE YOU'RE BACK IN BOCA, MOVE TO THE SLOW LANE. NOW.

Also: at what age must my children be before I can smack them when I see out of state license plates? Because I've seen a lot, and have not yet hit my children. And that just doesn't seem right.

Flip open a parenting magazine, any parenting magazine.

In the front section there is sure to be a page with Real World Advice from readers. And on that page, there is sure to be a tip like this one from the pages of the Real Simple Family edition I picked up at the store this week:

"The best parenting advice I have ever received is 'Drive the car.' There is nothing like a backseat full of chattering girls -- of any age -- to provide valuable, even startling, insights into their daily lives, interests, concerns, hopes, and dreams."

Too true, Susan Bowers of Whittier, Calif. Too true.

I've had ample opportunity this summer, that's for sure. Lucy and I have spent a lot of time together in the car over the past few months, zooming from one appointment to the next. And then this summer, we would get up early-ish, pack up the car with DVDs, wipe-off dry erase coloring books, and lots of juice boxes and coffee, and head off for an hour's drive to the auditory processing clinic across the Bay. And then drive an hour back later in the morning. In between Milo & Otis and the Wizard of Oz, there is a little time for chatting.

And Susan Bowers is right -- you do get valuable, even startling insights from the front seat.

Take this exchange a few days ago, as I drove Lucy home from preschool.

Me: "Okay, we're going to go home, rest, have a snack, and then go to OT."

Her: "Just me and you, right? Not Tessie.

Me: "No, Tessa is coming too. She'll hang out in the waiting room with me."

Her: "But I don't want her to come! I only want you and me. I'm going to tell her she can't come."

Me: "No, you can't be rude to your sister."

Her: "What's 'rude'?

Me: "Rude is when you are mean and hurt someone's feelings. It's not okay to be rude."

Her: "Ohh no! But I love to be rude! I have to be rude! Being rude makes me happy! I am always rude!"

Me: stunned into silence, again.

And then this exchange, from today in the car on the way home from the other side of the Bay.

Her: "Hold my hand while you drive, mama."

Me: "No, that's not safe. Driving is about being safe."

Her: "No, driving is about going lots of places."

Me: "Well, yes. And being safe."

Her: "No, you don't need to be safe."

Me: "Yes, it's important so that we don't get hurt."

Her: "No, it's not."

Me: exasperated into silence.

Her, a few beats later, in a tone of patient explanation: "That was me being rude, mama."

Nothing like a backseat of chattering girls indeed.

A few days ago at the park, Tessa was eyeing a bouncy toy that a three year old was also moving towards. The three year old gave Tessie the hand, in classic Heisman pose. Tessie slapped that big kid's hand out of her way, and then bitch-slapped the kids hand back and forth a few times more, for good measure. I didn't know whether to give her a time out or high five her. She just hopped on the bouncy toy and never looked back.

I think that pretty much sums her up. Always moving, never deterred. And if she is deterred, you will hear about it. Loudly. And for quite a while. Or maybe, you will get smacked. Even when she's happy, her favorite way of showing me affection is to grab my neck and dig her nails in -- laughing delightedly as I scream in pain. It seems wrong to give her time outs when she bites and pinches, because when she attacks she always does it with so much joy.So many words here, and I'm still not doing you justice. You are unlike anyone I've ever met before, kid or grown up. I think my job as a parent will be to figure out a way to tap into your passion and clear brilliance (whatever, it's true) and reign in your baser impulses. You could be a recipient of a Genius grant or multiple restraining orders, it's really a toss-up as to which way it will go.