Flat Tire

Yesterday morning we were running late. Tom had to leave early for a meeting, so I was trying to herd the proverbial cats and make their lunch, and write an e-mail, and get dressed myself in time to catch a train to work. So of course it was the day Megan couldn’t find anything to wear, and Luke couldn’t stop himself from distracting her until I yelled at him, at which point he cried and called me a meanie. We finally got in the car at 8:00 which is pretty much the last minute we can leave and still make it to school before they start giving out tardy notes. So when the car finally started rolling and I heard a dull grinding sound, I tried to ignore it for several seconds. By the end of the block, however, I accepted we had a flat tire and pulled over.

Luke started crying: “Mamma, I’m scared! What’s going to happen?!” You’d think the car had burst into flames. I assured him that a flat tire was not dangerous and that we would just have to find another way to school. (My friend Miriam rescued us. Thank goodness I finally succumbed to a cell phone.) When I got home from class I changed the tire, which I admit took me awhile since I haven’t changed a tire in many years and had to check the owner’s manual to make sure I was putting the jack in the right spot. Still, it wasn’t too hard. But here’s the kicker: when Luke saw me after school he asked, “Is the tire fixed?” And when he heard I had changed it, he said, “You changed it yourself? Without Daddy’s help?” I’m not sure if his expression registered admiration or skepticism. When I put my hands on my hips indignantly, he laughed.

So today I’m thinking about gender stereotypes and wishing I had taught both the kids how to change a flat, even though neither of them will be getting the car keys any time soon. Still, it’s sooner than I realize. Last night Megan asked (with an expression of disgust) if she would really grow body hair someday. I said yes, but don’t worry, it won’t be for about ten more years. Then I realized that wasn’t true. She’s almost nine. In ten years she’ll probably be a freshman in college and, if she’s succumbed to peer pressure, will already be shaving her body hair. Yikes.

After they both went to bed, I turned on the TV for a minute and saw the preview of a show about an anorexic ten-year-old. That wasn’t the bed time relaxation I needed, so I turned off the anxiety box and lit my candle for the day. What came to mind was a strong urge to appreciate the age the children are right now, old enough to reason with but young enough to play around with. I thought of how silly they were yesterday after school, and what a flat tire I often am, easily irritated by their silliness, unable to roll with it. So when Luke climbed into my bed this morning and started pretending that his fingers were rats, I pretended to be a hungry snake while he giggled, wide-eyed. The rest of the morning went much smoother than yesterday so we were actually at school by 8:00.